White Friend
by Melpomene melancholica
Summary: Loneliness transcends even death. Lost in his struggles brought by his teacher's marriage, Yahiko realizes he needs a friend--and the strange girl who lived alone in a shack seemed eager to be one. But her dark eyes were always so cold, so empty. RETIRED
1. Prologue

Note: I posted the wrong chapter for this. Instead of Prologue, chapter 4 was here. So sorry for the trouble. Here's the real prologue. Thanks to Kyo-Terayashi and Watermelon for telling me. ::kowtows:: 11:31 AM 10/26/2003

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.

**Prologue**

"Are you leaving already? So soon…"

Softness. Like the clouds. Perhaps, if humans could touch the clouds… But no. They were intangible, ethereal. Like her.

"When will you be coming back?"

Not he. He was as human as possible. Plain. Homely.

"You don't like me anymore, do you?" she said softly. She peered at him with those eyes. Those eyes…

"No. Of course not," he finally spoke. "People don't just unlike each other like that, you know."

"So you say," she murmured, rising from the rock she was perched on. "But it wasn't 'just like that'. There are many days between your visits. The time is long."

He turned away from her, staring instead at the ragged face of the towering tree before them. "I didn't know you had a concept of time."

"Time." She walked towards him, almost floating on the dry earth with her liquid limbs. "Time is an _ojiisan_. I know him well."

"Then you will understand me. Time has passed. Things have changed. Haven't you noticed?" He looked at her finally, for the first time that day.

"What?"

He didn't answer. She glided to his side and reached out tentatively to touch his shoulders. That. He hated that. He hated it when she touched him. Hated it….

"Are you sick?" she whispered in a troubled rumble.

Their skins touched; it was like water poured down his back, water from an icy river on a winter's day. He jerked away violently, shuddering with dread. White hands arrested in midair. Orbs watered. Shock registered.

"Please don't try to stop me," he pleaded a little angrily. "I have to go far away, so we won't see each other for a some time. Just for a while."

Still, she stared at him, aghast. "I thought…" she mouthed. "You said…"

"I'm sorry. But--"

But she didn't allow him to finish with his explanations. She fled at once. She was as swift as a deer and thus left him no chance to overtake her. And he was left with nothing else to say, anyhow.

"Sayonara," he murmured as he turned away.

**

* * *

****White Friend**

Another Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction by Melpomene Melancholica, co-authored

by the great and almighty Schizo-four: Chibi K the Chibster, Fairchild the Innocent,

Ornery-chan the Ornery One and Wronksi Feint the Whatever, now known as Shirodachi. He he. This is fun.Edited on: 122104

Reposted on:12/22/2004


	2. Ichi

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.

_**White Friend**_  
by Melpomene and Shirodachi  
**Ich**

The darkness coalesced with the scanty light, creating a vibrant sort of glow similar to that of the sunrise. Like some creature of mischief, the luminescence stealthily lurked about him, gradually prodded him awake, then disappeared back to the depths of dream where it came from. It was at that moment the creature succeeded. Yahiko became aware of that reddish radiance that blanketed his sight. With some effort, he opened his eyes to greet the new day.

It was morning already, and he had woken up late. Well, not really late, for the sun was still soft, further sieved of its intensity by the thin translucent paper of the door. He was wont to awaken earlier though, as he had been trained for the last few years.

Hands stretched lazily overhead, he kicked off the covers and rose from his futon. He changed his sleeping clothes for his usual everyday garments and looked around the tiny cubbyhole Sano left him. He fixed things here and there until he was finally satisfied by its neatness. Sighing, he exited from his apartment. Imagine how different it was when the bum resided there

"Che," muttered the twelve-year-old. "The busu's rubbing off on me. Speaking of which, I'm late."

So gravely he made his way to the old dojo, prepared to brave whatever punishment there was to meet him with the resigned air of one so experienced in such field.

Interestingly enough, the boy headed not for his old home but, as the old occupant of his current home was wont to, made a side trip to the trusty Akabeko. It wasn't really to bug Tae for breakfast; Kaoru detested cooking at the crack of dawn anyway. It just seemed like a good idea to visit that day. Not that he didn't go there daily.

"_Ohayo_," Yahiko-kun, greeted Tsubame, mildly startled. "You're so early today."

"Not really," said Yahiko coolly, yawning for effect. "I'm rather late today. I usually get at _busu_'s at the crack of dawn."

"Ne, Yahiko-kun, but won't Kaoru-san get mad?"

"Nah. She likes it when I get late. Hides the fact she is too."

"I see."

There was an odd little silence. Tsubame, quite ignorant of what to do next, fidgeted a little, still standing at the doorway. Yahiko stood at the threshold before her with the same indecision, staring past her blankly. Finally, he sighed and grabbed the cup she was cradling.

"Yahiko-kun-" she protested.

But Yahiko slid past her and ventured into the kitchen.

"Really, I can manage on my own. They're quite heavy, so I'll just do it myself, ne?"

"Are you implying I'm too weak to carry a tray full of ceramics?" Yahiko paused in mid-stride to give her an indignant glare.

"N-no But…" She tugged at the tray in his hands furtively. "It's my job and…"

"It's not as if I'm stealing it." Yahiko rolled his eyes slightly. "I'm just trying to hel- Forget it. Just let go 'kay?" He turned briskly and continued to set the tables, deigning to hide his face.

Tsubame didn't bother. "_Arigatou_, Yahiko-kun," she murmured, trailing him timidly to help. "But really. Won't Kaoru-san get angry? After all, she left you in charge of all the students. Isn't that a big responsibility?"

"Yeah. Surprised me good when she gave me the job."

"So you ought to hurry and be early, ne?"

Yahiko quirked an eyebrow at her. "Are you really telling me to get lost?" he demanded.

Kowaii… Tsubame quaked inside but aloud she stuttered, shaking her head. "_I-ie_. Just um… advising."

… Tsubame quaked inside but aloud she stuttered, shaking her head. ". Just um… advising." 

"I don't think she'll even be up yet this early," he replied shortly. "Besides, Kenshin won't let us start until she does get up. Students like it too." He shrugged.

"Oh. But she used to wake you up so early. Can't you-?"

"Try telling Kenshin that." Yahiko scowled mutinously.

Tsubame could not help but smile a little. "Kaoru-san is beautiful."

"Beautiful?" repeated Yahiko in incredulous disgust. "The _busu_'s a killer whale from hell."

"But she used to wake up early. Even when the baby started to grow."

"Heh. Kenshin used to wake her up, but he stopped months ago. She's quite put out with him for doing so, but its not as if she can do anything about it. Well, she tries on her own, but she's not succeeding lately."

"And she gets mad at you?"

"It's that Kenshin's fault," he muttered, setting the last table. "And he goes about grinning like he's won a bout or something. I think he actually enjoys being hit by the _busu_. Well, I don't!"

"Is Kaoru-san always in a bad mood?"

"Actually she's pretty mellow these days."

"Compared to months ago?"

"Yeah."

Silence. Yahiko dropped the tray near the sink.

"Well," he said, wiping his hands dry on a towel. "That's done. I better go."

She nodded. "_Arigatou gozaimasu_, Yahiko-chan."

"Don't call me that!"

"Hello."

Yahiko jumped. A girl was smiling at him from the next house. What was strange was that he could have sworn no one was standing there a moment ago. He squinted for a better look; the sunlight was marring his sight.

Thin was the first thing that entered his mind to describe her. Her dark hair framed her ghostly face, and a faded kimono, worn by many years of use, covered her frail body.

"Hello," she repeated. He figured it was she-- no, she _was_ talking to him. He looked away distractedly, searching for the comforting sight of the dojo close by.

"Uh-hi." Yahiko gave her a little smile. "I don't believe we've met."

The girl was still smiling but her eyes were cold. Yahiko shivered, thinking he was seeing things. "No, we haven't."

"My name's Myoujin Yahiko."

"Tokyo samurai," she supplied to his surprise, not even for a moment breaking her gaze. "I know. I was watching you."

"Watching me. Uh-huh. Okay, um…"

"I feel happy now that I have met you, Yahiko."

"Happy?" He had the urge to yell out, 'You freak me out, lady ', but something held his normally impulsive tongue back. "Listen. I think I better go." He turned and ran to the dojo, his forehead perspiring.

"Do come back, Yahiko," she called out imperceptibly. "Come back."

The old worn face of wrinkled brown was surprisingly a great relief as its giant form loomed before him in the young sunshine. Yahiko collapsed against it, breathless from his race. When his lungs were finally satisfied, he pounded on the door. Usually, he didn't need to, for Kenshin always anticipated his arrival and was therefore at the door the moment he arrived. Nonetheless, the door swung open immediately, and a face, like the sturdy wooden gates, scarred, greeted him.

"Yahiko what's wrong?" came in place of the customary _ohayou_ or _okaeri_.

The boy stumbled in, signaling his well being to Kenshin. He flopped down on the dojo floor just as the master came out.

"Yahiko-dono," she said in a surprisingly good-natured manner. "Thy need not hie so. The class has been moved and shalt commence anon, dost thee not remember?"

"Eh?" he said, panting a little. "What's with the weird lines?"

"My dear husband's influence. Archaic."

Yahiko just nodded. He was a little too tired to sass and wasn't tempted to do so, anyway, since Kaoru didn't appear to be in a quarrelsome mood. He was rather glad she merely attributed his flushing face to exhaustion. In truth, the boy was quite embarrassed. What the hell was he thinking, running away from a girl like that?

Meanwhile, the great ex-assassin he should be afraid of was fussing over his wife like a fretful mother.

"Kaoru-dono," he said. "I thought you said you're eating breakfast already?"

"Well, I decided to wait for Yahiko and he's here."

"So why did you have to rush me so insistently a while ago?" he murmured.

"You were running late." She walked off briskly to the kitchen.

Yahiko lazily followed at a slower pace. "I don't understand why you ban her from training," he said. "She's as strong as an ox."

"That's right," piped up Kaoru.

"And as big as one."

"Hey!"

"You're right. You're not," he conceded. "You're a whale!"

WHACK!

"_Itaii_!"

"And you are also late. Hmph."

"Did you see that?" he demanded of the hapless husband. "She is NOT that weak little kitten you're imagining her to be I tell you, she can battle the Juppon Gatana by herself, no sweat. So stop irritating her already!"

A little later, the three concluded a scrumptious breakfast. Yahiko was glad more than ever that his young teacher had abandoned the idea of bossing the kitchen on mornings some time ago.

"So really, why were you rushing, Yahiko?" Kaoru started the conversation. "It's so un-you."

"Hello?" said Yahiko with his mouth full. "Do I like have to remind you of what you do to late people?"

"Ha-ha. Nothing doing. You're not that considerate."

Yahiko just rolled his eyes at her. Then suddenly, he found a way to ask the question he was dying to ask. "Anyway, have you met the new neighbor?"

"Neighbor?" repeated Kaoru in puzzlement. "What new neighbor?"

"At the old shack, near the woods. You know, near that old shortcut to the Akabeko."

"The old Iizuka place? Did somebody buy it?"

"Duh, _busu_. Don't ask me. Do tanuki hibernate or is it just you? You're losing synch with reality. You don't know?"

"But that place has been abandoned for years," she protested. "After the owner died and his heirs went away, it fell into disrepair and nobody would buy it."

"Besides," added Kenshin. "The house is empty, Yahiko. We've never seen anybody in it."

"Well, there was one a while ago," said the boy. "Some girl about my age. Freaky."

"At your age, all girls would seem freaky," said Kaoru sagely.

"And you're the freakiest!" a miffed Yahiko retorted. It was kind of true, what she said, but in no way was he going to admit it. Even Tsubame seemed strange at times. And scary.

"Well, she could have just been playing there," said Kenshin, carefully taking the bowl from his wife's clawed hands before she could bean it on the boy. "Or else, somebody did buy it recently and moved in just now."

"We should have noticed," mused Kaoru. "Besides, nobody wants that house. That's why it has been abandoned. And children don't play there either. Once or twice, some boys fooled around in there for a dare, but that was a long time ago. I was just a little girl then when they regarded it as a sort of a local haunted house."

"Really?" Yahiko frowned. "I've never heard of it."

"That's just it. It's not the type of place you'd easily notice. I mean, you see it everyday, but you don't really think about it. I'm surprised you raised the topic."

"I wouldn't have noticed it if it wasn't for that girl. And weren't you listening to me, Kenshin?She's not a little kid goofing off. I said she looked my age."

"Now, that's something different," teased Kaoru. "Yahiko's meeting strange girls in obscure places. I'm telling Tsubame!" She giggled.

"You and your stupid gossips!" Yahiko glared at her in disgust. "And what does she got to do with it?"

"Nothing." Kaoru smiled innocently. "Just that you have a new friend."

"She is not my friend."

"There's nothing wrong with having female friends, Yahiko," said Kenshin, just as innocently.

"Yeah," his wife agreed. "It's not as if you're two-timing Tsubame or something."

"Shut up," muttered Yahiko. "Dirty-minded tramps."

"What's so dirty-minded about that? You're the _ecchi_." Kaoru pealed with laughter again. "Ooooh… Yahiko-chan is growing up."

"Maa, maa, Kaoru-dono,"said Kenshin. "Don't call him 'chan'. You're embarrassing him badly, too."

"Really. Sano would think he was just fantasizing or something."

"I was not!" denied Yahiko hotly. "And I bet you two were too distracted to notice the neighbors Don't include me in your cheesy romancing, _busu_. I'm too innocent for that."

"Ya-ya-hiko!" sputtered Kaoru.

"Maa, maa," said Kenshin. "I really think we just didn't notice. There is a lot of things to do."

"You have lots of work," replied Yahiko. "_Busu_ here is bumming 'round in her big butt all day long."

have lots of work," replied Yahiko. " here is bumming 'round in her big butt all day long." 

"Why you-! That is so not true. Besides, it's Kenshin's fault I-"

"Oh right. He could also be working on you."

"YAHIKO Where did you learn--? Aurgh!!"

"Brats!"

Yahiko marched on the dirt road forcefully, raising clouds of dust on his wake. It was high summer; the earth was arid even at that late hour. At least, it wasn't so dark, but he was supposed to be at the Akabeko hours ago. Kaoru and her quirks could be really ill-timed.

"I'm supposed to like help out for pay," he buzzed under his breath, much like a mosquito. "What the heck would I find there when I arrive? Normal people don't eat for hours like that fat hag. It's stupid if I arrive there and all the work's already done… Sheesh. I hate that busu."

Himura Kaoru had one of her sentimentality attacks. Yahiko should have known it was one of those days when he arrived at the dojo late and yet was able to eat breakfast under his very teacher's eyes without being harmed. That in itself was an ill omen, add the fact that Kenshin neglected to beat him to the door, and of course that strange girl he met earlier. Sure enough, his foreboding materialized when Kaoru announced she was giving a little surprise party for her students.

It was a simple affair: tasty snacks, courtesy of the resident _Hitokiri_-turned-_rurouni_-turned-houseboy, and fun parlor games hosted by the _senpai_. Now, there really wasn't anything wrong about all that, except for one minor detail: the master didn't consider it imperative to inform trusty old Yahiko-chan about the plans. It was after all a surprise, and Yahiko, though a _senpai_ to others, was still a pupil, wasn't he?

"That busu," he muttered, absentmindedly squashing the package of food he had brought along. "What the hell was she thinking? Che. I do have a schedule, too."

Slap, slap, went his sandals as he trod upon the packed soil. Soon enough, the slapping reduced to a faint rustling, for the forest floor was covered with dead needles. He was now in the coniferous forest bordering the Kamiya property, that piece of woodland jutting into their prefecture. He shivered as a rare gust of breeze shared the path he was taking.

It felt quite safe under that sudden canopy of dark green. A sleepy sort of quietness hung over the place, seldom broken by the normal noise of the local fauna. No wonder people rarely used that shortcut. Kaoru herself frequently chose the longer walk-- not because it was creepy or anything of that sort. Rather, it was too silent in there it almost made one sluggish and lazy, so lazy that one might sit down and lie there forever.

A tiny wisp of wind blew again at his direction. It should have been refreshing, a welcomed way to alleviate the prickly heat. But Yahiko felt oddly……… cold. Well, he was wearing rather thin clothes, just right for the weather. But still…

It's summer, for crying out loud he thought. _What the heck's wrong with the weather?_

he thought. 

Nothing. Nothing was wrong with the weather. It was just him and his nerves and his recently slighted dignity. Nothing was wrong.

Oh, yes there is It's this whole freaky place.

Wait. Was that even a hint of an admission of cowardice coming from him, Tokyo samurai Myoujin Yahiko? That's unthinkable.

Still, he stopped in his tracks. His skin prickled; it felt the same way when he was cold, when the air around him stirred a while ago. However, the needles, both dead and alive, hung limp in their respective positions, and the secretive conifers stood still and silent like sentinels. There was no wind right then.

Slowly, he turned his head slightly to the left, carefully scanning his surroundings. There was nothing out there, just columns and columns of hard wood gradually disappearing in the growing darkness and distance, nothing but that rundown shack.

The shack Yes, he had already reached the shack but never noticed, so occupied was he with thinking up atrocities to avenge himself on his teacher. There was nothing in the shack, too, unless something lurked in its shadowy interior.

Yahiko then pivoted his head the other way to survey his right. There was also nothing there but the same monotonous sight of trees standing in attention like a platoon of soldiers.

But the feeling was still there. That feeling. He didn't need Kenshin's strong ability to detect ki. He knew that feeling. We all know that feeling…… that feeling of being watched……

Behind him, then. The person must be there, if there at all. It wasn't found in the three directions he had searched through, but it couldn't have sneaked up on him from his posterior.

Cold sweat rolled down his forehead.

Kuso. What's wrong with me?

That's right, Yahiko. What is wrong with you? He wouldn't move a muscle. He couldn't move a muscle. His throat was as dry as the earth underfoot, but he couldn't swallow to relieve that vexation. He was frozen on a sweltering evening of late June.

Frozen…

"Yahiko-kun."

That was like a bell that awoke him from his state. Yahiko suddenly found that he was able to swallow but wasn't able to answer the call.

"Yahiko-kun," repeated the voice.

"Yes?" he was finally able to answer. Yet his voice came out like a squeak of a mouse, and he kicked himself mentally in spite of himself. He turned about face and saw the girl he met earlier that morning.

"Yahiko-kun," she said in tones so soft it would have been impossible to hear without the silence that hung about them. "I'm glad that you have returned. This means we're friends, doesn't it?"

It was at that very moment the clouds chose to exhale deeply. The strong breath swept around them-- her. A moment ago, her inky hair limply flowed from her head and concealed her face; now, it billowed out unexpectedly, the lifeless strands waving about her like tentacles. Yahiko expected her face to become less gloomy with her hair drawn from it. The curtain revealed no surprise, but instead stressed her gauntness, her obscurity.

Yahiko gasped as his brown eyes met her cold stare, unimpeded by the shadow on her face. The sight of her visage inspired something unknown in him, something he couldn't understand: fear, pity, what? Still, her piercing gaze unnerved him, and he broke contact with her, having no wish to get lost into her cavernous eyes.

"Yahiko-kun…"

She reached out towards him; a tiny hand appeared from the coarse hem of her kimono. It was such a white hand, so white that it seemed to glow in the deepening twilight. Being nervous, he couldn't move, allowing their distance to gradually decrease.

"Let's be friends…. Friends…… Forever."

She smiled.

Such a cold smile. Her eyes were still empty.

Yahiko suddenly flinched. Snapping back to his senses, he lifted his head to look at her wildly.

"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I'm late and I have to go. You look hungry. Here."

With that, he pushed past her, thrusting his package to her outstretched arm.

Yahiko practically ran down the path, barely registering the soft thud as his gift fell to the earth. Still, he spared her one last look before he turned and completely disappeared.

The smile was no longer on her face, and the emptiness in her eyes was replaced with something else…

But the boy ignored it. For the present, at least.

Always, the water ran clear and sparkling and was wonderfully cold on her tired hands. The night was hot, as usual, especially in the hectic chaos of the kitchen. Tsubame liked it better outside with the occasional night breeze fanning her from behind as she worked. Not even the surrounding darkness scared her for she was busy with the last of the evening's chores. Also, working in such conditions regularly for years was bound to make one used to it.

Looking up from the soapsuds that covered her arms, she glimpsed the troubled face of a close friend. Now, this face was familiar, and so was the scene itself. However, the disturbed expression painted on the visage was rare to appear, and never so palpably as it did that night. So, as intimidating as the thought seemed to be, Tsubame decided to prod it out of him even though he was never known to be eager in sharing any of his weaknesses. It was after all a friend's duty and was not strictly considered meddling. Or so Tae-san said.

"Yahiko-kun," Tsubame finally said, managing to gather enough guts to ask. "Is there anything wrong?"

That was probably not a great start. She expected Yahiko to express some sign of annoyance, a brusque reassurance in a miffed voice. Instead, he looked up at her quizzically.

"What was that?" he asked.

Years before, she would have probably been scared off by that kind of a reply. But as time flew by, she little by little crept out of her shell and developed some kind of closeness with her co-worker. He always accompanied her at night, when she still had dishes to wash, after he finished his work. Of course, he didn't just sit there in silence as she worked. He always started conversations until she, too, began to initiate them.

"I said, are you all right?" Tsubame repeated. "You're quite out of it tonight."

"Is that so?" he abstractedly answered in a very un-Yahiko manner.

The last of the plates being washed, Tsubame rinsed her hands and sat down beside him on the stone steps .

"Anou… is there something you want to talk about, Yahiko-kun?" she said, peering at him in concern. She rested her elbows on her knees, her face on her hands, and waited for him to answer.

"Anou… is there something you want to talk about, Yahiko-kun?"

Yahiko-kun…. She called him that, too. She with those eyes, those eyes that were so… disturbing. It strangely reminded him of Aoshi.

Aoshi? Yes… The coldness… the emptiness. And no. That was the Aoshi of the old, the Aoshi of bitterness, self-loathing, and twisted hatred. Always, Shinomori Aoshi hid all his emotion behind his façade of stone, even now as he struggled to swim his way up to the surface of the dark sea of his ambition. True, they were both glib and impenetrable, the Oniwabanshu Okashira and that girl. However, Aoshi's icy blue stare seemed to hold a little hope; after all, even a long winter ends with the coming of spring, heralded by the chirping of birds and weasels. But the darkness of the girl's eyes was almost terrifying. They held nothing but void, wanted nothing but nothingness…

No.

There was something in her eyes at that last moment. When he glanced back, he saw it clearly.

Sadness.

Loneliness.

It scared him.

What? That woods? That darkness? That girl?

"Yahiko-kun?"

This time, he really snapped out of it. He looked up at his companion in surprise, as if abruptly awakened from a dream.

"I'm sorry," Tsubame said with a sigh. "I didn't mean to intrude, I'm just…"

Always, those brown eyes. They looked at him with such concern. Purple eyes, blue eyes, more brown eyes. All full of warmth, of love…

Black.

Emptiness.

"Tsubame, I'm scared stiff," he blurted out.

Obviously, that was a shocking thing to say. Tsubame stared at him in disbelief, and rightfully so that she did. He never meant to say it, never in a million years. It was true that he confided things to Tsubame; the others might laugh, the others might sympathize, but she was one of his age. She'd understand. Still, he would never tell her--or anybody else, for that matter-- that he was afraid.

"Y-You?" stuttered Tsubame in disbelief. "Y-you're scared?"

"Aurgh! Forget I said anything!" said Yahiko hastily, stomping off to the kitchen as a last resort.

"Yahiko-kun!" protested Tsubame, picking up the dishes and following her friend. "I didn't mean it in a negative way. I was just surprised. That you told me, I mean."

"Fine. I said forget it. Drop it already, 'kay?"

"That's unfair," Tsubame stacked the plates on a counter and began drying them. "I get scared too."

Yahiko facefaulted. "I am not scared!" he denied hotly.

"Okay." Tsubame sighed. "I believe you."

"No, you don't," he muttered. "Anyway, did you taste the _omoochi_ I brought? It's the first batch _busu_ made that's actually edible."

"Omoochi?" Tsubame looked up from the plate in surprise. "You didn't bring anything with you, Yahiko-kun. Just the _bokken_."

?" Tsubame looked up from the plate in surprise. "You didn't bring anything with you, Yahiko-kun. Just the ." 

"Oh right." He suddenly remembered what happened in the woods a while ago…

That…

Would I ever waste away like her…. Like… that?

"What is it, Yahiko?"

"Huh?" His eyes snapped up to her direction. "Uh- Nothing. I guess, I left it back ho--I mean, the dojo."

"That's okay, then. Tae-san said she might visit Kaoru-san tomorrow, anyway."

Yahiko blanched faintly, realizing belatedly that he had spontaneously fibbed.

"Actually, I dropped it on the way."

That's true. She let it drop.

"Oh, I see."

He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to taste her perfect _omoochi_," he said absentmindedly.

Tsubame gazed at him thoughtfully for a long moment. She finished wiping the ceramics dry and carefully stacked them in their proper places. Then, she came to stand before him.

"Is that what you're really afraid of?" she said softly.

Yahiko mussed his hair in exasperation. "I told you, I'm not--"

"I don' think they'll just displace you like that."

"What?" He facefaulted again. "Tsubame, I was insulting Kaoru."

But she continued speaking without heed of his clarification. "We're still part of the family. It's just going to get bigger."

"I'm not worried about the baby or whatever," Yahiko asserted coolly. "I'm not some little kid with petty jealousies."

Tsubame said nothing in reply.

"All right," conceded her friend. "I guess, I am a little lonely these days. I mean Megumi's in Aizu. And Sano's…. somewhere. Where does that put me?"

"Kaoru-san and Kenshin-san are still here."

"Yes, but… they're married now. It was different then."

"It feels like they know of a wonderful secret that you can't partake in no matter how they try to include you. A part but apart."

"Yeah…" Yahiko's impatient façade melted into helpless confusion. "I guess so. Now that you mentioned it… That's how it feels. Sometimes, I get left out."

"You feel left out. Yahiko-kun, I hope you don't mind me asking, but do they treat you any different as they did before?"

Yahiko thought hard. "Well, the _busu_ still abuses me so maybe… No. I guess not."

"See? Kaoru-san is like an older sister to you right?"

"Well…" Yahiko grudgingly agreed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Then you're family to her and Kenshin."

"Uh-uh. She's married. Make that extended family."

Tsubame couldn't help but giggle at that.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"Yahiko, I have several brothers and sisters. I assure you, my mother doesn't forget any of the family. I don't think remembering three or four people would be such a chore either."

"Fine. So it was dumb of me to think like that. Extended family. Che. We're all kinda short on immediate family as it is."

Tsubame smiled. "If it's any consolation, Yahiko-kun, there's no such thing as 'extended' friends."

Yahiko grinned back in spite of himself. "Speaking of extensions, I think the Akabeko has been open long enough. Tae-san would like to close now. And I better go. See ya."

"Bye."

She followed him as he made his way out the front door. There was where she halted, and left the following to her eyes. She stayed until the proud figure, with the bamboo sticking up his back, was utterly swallowed by the night.

"_Oyasumi nasai_, Yahiko-chan."

To be continued...

Edited: 122104, 16:44:08

reposted: 011105

-----------

Old notes before reposting: we decided to change the title again ; Thanks to Sarah Yuy for the suggestion.


	3. Ni

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.

_White Friend_  
by Melpomene and Shirodachi  
**Ni**

Green, red and blue spots specked the nothingness. Slowly, sluggishly, they began to move randomly, blemishing the undecipherable pattern borne of their seemingly meaningless formation. Velocity and entropy increased, rendering separate figures into mere blurs and smudges. The multitude of dots gradually coalesced into a solid blackness.

Yahiko opened his eyes, waiting for them to focus, only to see the same lonesome darkness. He sat up with startling alertness, looking around the familiar place. Yes, he had seen this place a hundred times before in broad daylight. And also a handful of times like this, submerged in the night. But that was a long time ago. That can't be. He had never spent a sleepless night here, never glimpsed Sanosuke's pad in this light for more than a few drowsy seconds. Odd, that it would seem so known to him with such clarity, its shadowed and lighted areas seemingly mapped in his brain…

Up from his futon he rose, heading for the door. There really was something amiss in there, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Prudence would have advised to discontinue this action, but like many, he confused such forethought with cowardice. So he cautiously slid the shoji open and started; what he saw outside determined the answer to his puzzle.

The Himura's.

But how can he be in his old home? He moved out of the Kamiya dojo more than a year ago, right after Kaoru and Kenshin got married. Perhaps, he just slept there for the night, as he occasionally did under the pretense of the _shihondai_'s insistence.

Funny, he can't remember. Maybe all he needed was fresh air to clear his mind. He stepped out of his room to take a late-night stroll.

As he progressed down the hallway, the shadowy form of a woman came into view. He wondered who it could be, immediately ruling out the petite Kaoru. Of course, being pregnant made her quite large. But that was horizontally, not vertically. It can't be-

"Yahiko?" the person suddenly spoke, revealing instantly her identity. "What are you doing here?"

"Megumi?!" exclaimed Yahiko. "I should be the one asking you that. You're supposed to be in Aizu!"

Megumi frowned. "I am Sagara-sama's personal nurse. And you should be in the servant's quarters, gardener, not wandering the mansion at this unholy hour."

"Gardener?!" spat out Yahiko. "Sagara-sama! What the- ?!"

But Megumi slipped away as evanescently as she came, leaving him alone in that vast hallway swathed in black.

… Vast hallway?

"Wait a minute," he panicked. "This isn't the dojo!"

Of course it wasn't the dojo. It was a great Western mansion, or so it seemed, similar to Yutarou's home. But what was he doing in there? And as a gardener for that good-for-nothing, money- broke bum Sanosuke?

This is getting really weird… And ridiculous

He began walking uncertainly, meandering but going towards the direction he originally chose. And out of the darkness, a sound was heard…

"Aaaauughhh…"

He froze.

What the hell was that?

There it was again, an indistinct sort of crying, wailing, pleading… It sounded like someone in trouble, someone he knew well, someone like…

"KAORU!"

Something ignited at a corner of his brain, something that overwhelmed him with the sheer intensity of it. Still, he shot from the spot he stood even before his mind focused sharply on the imperative: his teacher was in trouble, and she needed help.

"Where are you?!" he half-unwillingly screamed out, an echo to her own desperate plea. "_Busu_, give me some sort of sign!"

It was hopeless to find his way through this maze of corridors. He couldn't even pinpoint the origin of her voice. Presently, he careened into another hallway, the place marked by a pained wailing of a name. His name. Not Kenshin's, everybody's hero. His.

"Yahiko! Help me, please!"

Despite himself, his whole being flooded with pride. His teacher, the _busu-sama_, trusted him with her life. She can admit her weakness to him, can call him for help. She trusted him.

Yahiko barely noticed when he was plunged into utter blackness. He was like a blind man, groping stupidly in all directions. No. A blind man had his other faculties to rely on, his senses honed by the body's adaptive mechanism for survival. He, Yahiko, was as helpless and alone as a man lost at sea…. But he fought bravely, though blindly, floundering his way through the seeming ocean of void, following the best he could the screams that reverberated in his hearing, screams that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Again, as briskly as it had come, the confusion vanished. He found himself still alone in the dark, but now faced by the familiar sight of the dojo gates. His ease was not to remain with him for long. At that exact moment, another cry of supplication left the hostile stillness riven. Now without the unseen pandemonium throttling his senses, he was able to pinpoint where the sound was coming from….

"I'm coming, Kaoru!" he yelled, bursting through the door, which opened without resistance. "I'm-"

At the threshold, he hesitated, hesitated for one tiny fraction of a horrendous second, as he took in the scene that beheld him. It was Kaoru, all right, her bleeding broken face contorted with pain of betrayal and disbelief, totally oblivious to the blood that turned the surrounding dust into mud. But even more shocking was the identity of the assailant. The stance, even though the bloody fist clutched no blade. The hair, the glare, everything. It was unbelievable.

But unmistakable. His idol…savior… His friend… brother… father…

What? Impossible Impossible His mind shrieked impotently. _His own wife_?

His mind shrieked impotently. ? 

As he had done before, came the reply of his self in glib logic.

I can't stop him I can't save her from him. Me? That's impossible. I can't--I must. What the hell is going on?

It did not matter. Kenshin. Battousai. Imposter. He would stop him. He would stop him

"Nooooooo!!!"

A rage swept his mind, overruling any attempts of rationalization made by his brain, squashing that secret part of him that cowered and sobbed in hysteria. In fighting the urge to implode, what with the thousand thoughts that assailed him, Yahiko ceased to care, being unable to contest with the swarm of it all thronging in his neuropathways. Damning to hell practically everything the very woman he was trying to save tried to instill in him, he hurled himself at his benefactress' attacker with uncharacteristic savagery.

He hurtled through empty space for eons before he made impact on target with a sickening crack of bone against bone. It was an eternal hell of sweat and blood lubricating a conflagration of straining muscles and iron wills. Finally, amazingly, Yahiko prevailed. And as he stared at the man's eyes, those soulless and totally unfamiliar eyes of a damned man, he had to hold back all not to crumple up and weep in relief. Not Kenshin… It was not Kenshin

Before another coherent thought could form in his head, Yahiko realized that the pressure of the man's body against his was gone. He looked wildly down at his hand, at what he thought held the attacker in a steel grip. There were… ashes.

Ashes. Like those of the dead. The dead they burn. The dead they turn to ashes.

The dead.

The man had crumbled away to ashes. How…?

Quickly, he turned his eyes to his teacher. He turned to be comforted by those blue eyes, to juice some miniscule solace from unexpected familiarity in this insanity.

But no. Blackness. Not blue.

Yahiko screamed, but his voice stuck at his throat. He couldn't move in his position, could only wait and watch with dread and horror as the lucent apparition floated towards him.

Void.

Her eyes… Those eyes again

"Welcome back, Yahiko-kun," she said in that ephemeral voice, that voice akin to the rustle of the leaves, that distinct faint sound they have made for thousands of windy autumns. "I knew you'd come. I knew you wouldn't leave me all alone. My rescuer… my friend… Let's stay together always. Forever."

And the cold earth opened up and swallowed him a whole.

The winds rushed around him frenziedly, whipping his hair, clothes- - everything loose-- against his flesh. Like cruel talons, they slashed at him, cold and abrasive against his unprotected skin. Claws reached out to clamp onto his guts, to tear them from the rest of his body, as if meaning to leave those ghastly white intestines fluttering in freefall, pushed back by air pressure, pulled down by gravity.

He was falling, falling, falling…

Falling from where?

Who knows? Somewhere.

Falling to where?

Nowhere.

Just falling, falling, falling…

Forever.

Stop…Stop

Stop? You cannot stop. You cannot stop such a sharp descent.

Help me Please, make it stop.

Do you really want it to stop, Yahiko-kun?

Stop it Stop… I can't breathe… I can't…

Do you now what would happen when it stops, Yahiko? Do you want to know what would happen after?

When- if- you stop falling, when you reach the bottom of that abyss, you'd be smashed to smithereens. Like an egg falling on the kitchen floor. Falling and smashing apart on the unforgiving earth.

Have you seen an egg break, Yahiko-kun? The white fragments littered randomly, their wedged edges seeming like razors gashing their own yolk, sadistically lacerating the sac? The red would spread all over that grisly mess, the thick fluid of what would have been, or used to be, life crawling on the wood, seeping to it. Can you imagine the human body like that?

But perhaps it would be better that way, better to have a swift, sudden, but painless death-- yes, it is painless, painless in its inexorable suddenness. Anything was better than that limbo, better than falling over and over again but never hitting a surface. Falling to nothingness for the rest of eternity.

Stop this I don't want to be alone forever…Please stop

Then fall, Yahiko-kun. Drop and hit the bottom. Meet the end, Yahiko. You won't know what's there, but at least it's a termination, a conclusion to this sickening continuity of naught. Very well.

FALL.

The impact shattered surrounding glass. Water gushed out the breached cell; air rushed back into his lungs. Yahiko sat up suddenly, gasping hard, his heart racing as if it had just powered a near endless run. He collapsed in exhaustion, his tense back hitting the thin mattress with a soft thud.

A rough palm rubbed down his face, slathering the beads of sweat into a sticky sheet of cold liquid. Hazily, he looked through his watery eyes. Barely could he see in that darkness. Barely, but sufficiently. It was unfamiliar, what he saw, but that unfamiliarity comforted him more than anything. He was in Sano's pad. His pad.

Finally, his heart rate receded. His breathing lulled itself to a steady reposed pace. Heaviness grew on his eyelids and he drifted to a light dreamless slumber.

Kaoru watched as the mountain of under-kimono and linen tottered dangerously to one side. It tilted slightly right first, sending some unmentionables on an avalanche down its slope. A corresponding sway to the opposite direction halted the items' fall. After a few more tremors, the mass stabilized.

"Ororororo…" whimpered the mountain.

She tried to stand up, failed, and sighed instead.

"Really, Kenshin," she said. "You need help."

"I'm fine," a muffled voice answered. "I'll manage. Just trying to hit a balance point - oroooo!"

His wife had to content herself with a few tsk-tsks and a shake of her head, being unable to rise. He was able to erect himself, anyway, before he completely toppled over. Still, she pushed on the wood with all her might to hoist herself to her feet.

"T-there. I'm…" She stuck a bit of her tongue out in exertion. "I'm up."

"Really, don't bother."

"I worked too hard to stand up, so don't you dare waste my effort." She marched up to him with arms outstretched. "Now let me help you."

"Somebody's at the door," said her husband without missing a beat.

Not working. There's no classes today.

Barely had she finished saying the last word when a faint knock was heard.

"Want me to get that?"

Kaoru just glared at where she thought his face was. "I'll get it," she muttered.

"Thank you."

"Don't laugh yet, you I'll get back at you, I swear."

"Yare, yare."

"Ohayou, Tae-san!" said Kaoru cheerfully as she opened the gates. "_Watash_-" she stopped in surprise. "Yahiko? What are you doing here?"

"I see I'm not wanted here," Yahiko replied icily.

That stuck a chord in Kaoru. "Yahiko!" she grabbed him by his shirt. "I was just asking It's your day-off today. You usually don't come."

"This is a dojo, right? What do people do in dojos anyway?"

"But- "

"Can't a guy train without being suspected of something?" Brusquely, he slipped past her.

"Yahiko!" Kaoru called back in frustration. "What's the matter with you? Come back here!"

It was Kenshin who came to her and shut the open door.

"I don't get that kid. One moment he's being nice and sweet, the next he's such a pain. I mean, yesterday he gave me a nice massage-- and tea with it too--and now this!"

"Isn't that how he always has been, Kaoru?" replied Kenshin as they walked back to the dojo.

"No. It's different now, lately. Before, when he's mad or peevish, it's usually because he's irritated, and he wants to irritate me. Now it's as if he's hiding some sort of resentment or something."

"He's worried about you, that's all."

"You're worried, but you're not like that."

"I don't believe I've ever mentioned being so." He looked at her quizzically, testily… innocently, with wide liquid eyes. "Worried? Me?

She glared at him ferociously in return. "Well, you better be 'coz I'll kill you if you're fussing just to annoy me "

"What am I like then?"

"Sweet. And irritating, too." She looked at him pointedly as he supported her as she walked towards and sat on the threshold. "On second thought, you're not that different. Just that he confuses me."

"I see. Well, you know how he doesn't like worrying and being afraid. His fear for you translates into resentment and…"

"Animosity." The look she directed towards the source of grunts and cries of exertion was dark.

Kenshin laughed. "Not really, Kaoru-dono."

"Didn't you hear what he said?" his wife demanded. "Not wanted. What does he want me to do? Coddle him? But he hates that too He wants independence? Okay. So now he's acting as if we're shunning him That- that jerk." Her face contorted into an odd combination of a wince and a scowl, her lower lip quivering.

"Now, now, Kaoru. He can't help but feel a little left out."

"Left out? We didn't ask for him to leave. He insisted on it!"

"Remember what I told you about changing times?"

"Yeah. Yahiko is growing up, I suppose. Then, why is acting so immaturely?"

"He's in an awkward stage when you're not yet considered an adult but you're no longer considered a child."

"Oh, I know that feeling. I know that feeling well. Then comes the stage when everybody expects you to be adult but treats you like a child."

"Yes. It's not surprising he'd find problems about fitting in what with all the changes going on."

Kaoru nodded astutely. "Changes brought about not only by his maturity but also by our marriage. For example this one." She gestured towards her abdomen. "This is one very big change."

Kenshin smiled at her fondly. "Not that big, Kaoru-chan."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged. "Would it have happened if previous changes didn't occur?"

"Uh… Ano…" He scratched behind his ear. "That's the idea anyway. He's trying to give us space."

"Well, we don't need that much space " Kaoru wrinkled her nose in displeasure. "I'd kick him out when I want to."

"That's what he's afraid of. He doesn't want to be spurned. He's anticipating that we'll send him away sooner or later, so he's beating us to it by distancing himself so it won't hurt as much."

"Yahiko _no baka_. As if I'm actually going to do that. Ever."

"He doesn't really know that, does he?"

"He should."

"I though you said people like to be told."

"Told."

"Aa. Stuff."

"And when did I say that?" she demanded.

"You know…" He smiled at her sweetly.

The look she returned was odious.

"Never mind."

"It's stupid of him." Kaoru sighed and stood up, using his arm as leverage. "I think I'll go do some of the mending I should have finished last night."

"Aa."

"Will you talk to him? You're good at that. He'll just bite my head off."

"Hai, Kaoru-dono."

He didn't mean to be mean. Really.

"_Busu. Busu. Busu. Busu_."

On and on the word came. It came in place of the typical numbers spoken to keep track of each blow.

Well, he did mean to be mean. But he didn't mean to be mean that way. There were different kinds of meanness after all: meanness when he meant to be mean like that, meanness when he meant to be mean not like that, and meanness he didn't mean.

Yahiko sighed his surrender. He himself didn't really understand what he meant by being mean to her a while ago. What did it matter anyway? He was frequently mean to her and he usually didn't give a damn why. But his being mean to her a while ago annoyed him. He got irritated with himself when he, as a rule, reveled on occasions she's riled up and insulted.

Yes. His meanness earlier involved not a childishly pissed off Kaoru. She was seriously hurt, perhaps? An injury elsewhere instead of in the customary dignity and self-esteem? Hurt by something he hurled back at her due to shortcomings she was helpless to stem?

"Yahiko."

Now what person would dare interrupt him in the middle of his training? He was training And everybody knew how much he hated being jolted out of his concentration. Not even Kaoru wanted to be reminded so with merely light reasons.

"Orororo…"

Now that could only be one person. But Kenshin never interrupted him during training. Not only was he super polite, he was also super prudent.

"Ano… Since you don't seem to have many things to spend your time on… Some help might prove really useful…"

Something to spend time on? Isn't training something?

Yahiko attempted to puzzle out Kenshin's uncharacteristic thoughtlessness. As he did, what he had been staring at for so long slowly took form in his mind. It was the tip of his _shinai_, he finally realized. And it was perfectly stationary, a meter or so before his eyes.

What the hell was he doing anyway? How long has he been standing there staring stupidly like that? He didn't even want to know the answers to those questions.

"Sorry, Kenshin," he said instead. "What was that you were saying?"

He turned his gaze towards the door, catching sight of a boulder of linen atop a precariously-swaying, silly _rurouni_. Or rather, formerly a boulder of linen atop a precariously-swaying, silly _rurouni_. Now it was merely a dump of bedding toppled over the prostrated _rurouni_.

"Orororo…"

"Right, you wanted help," said Yahiko mildly. "Sure, Kenshin." And because it happened all the time anyway, he merely sighed, tossed aside his _shinai_ and plucked the poor redhead from the floor.

"You alright?" he inquired.

"Yes," replied the _rurouni_. "_Sessha_ believes so."

Yahiko patiently piled up the washing, took half of it, and rolled it into a bundle. Kenshin took the other half.

"Thank you." He started for his trusty washtub.

"Yeah, sure." Yahiko followed him, jesting. "We're in this together, buddy. Let's combat that slave-driving _busu_."

"Actually, _sessha_ volunteered. As usual."

"She forced you to volunteer. As usual."

Kenshin shook his head. "I can't help wondering why you're being antagonistic towards her this early today."

"I'm not antagonistic."

"Aa, not so. Not more than usual to be so remarkable."

Yahiko frowned, slightly irritated. "I'm not antagonistic," he repeated.

Yet the word echoed in his mind. _Antagonistic_? Well, he was, wasn't he? And he was usually damn proud of it, too.

"Yahiko."

Kenshin was peeking at him from in between two pristinely white sheets fluttering in the wind. He was some five meters away from him standing over the water-filled tub.

"Those are for hanging," Kenshin said, dropping his load on an empty tub near him. He cocked his head slightly towards the boy, looking at him in concern. "They weren't soiled by the fall now, were they?"

"Eh?" Yahiko went to him and dumped his bundle with the other clothes. "Whatever man."

"There's really no point washing it if it's still dirty after, Yahiko."

Yahiko gave him as suffering look. "The dame's already nuts about you. No need always trying to please her."

There was a long silence as Kenshin chose not to answer that. Yahiko watched him as he hung his washing for that day.

"How is she, anyway?" he finally swallowed enough pride to ask.

"Wonderful."

The boy groaned. "You know what I mean."

"Like I said, wonderful. She's in her last trimester now. Dr. Genzai assured us she's very healthy. And I'm sure her correspondence with Megumi-dono would cover anything we left out."

Yahiko rolled his eyes. "As if. You're talking about that pig-headed, hard-headed airhead tanuki."

Kenshin shrug. "I suppose I could use a hand taking care of her."

Yahiko considered his reply for some time. "She'll be awfully mad," he said.

"I know." Kenshin chuckled.

The boy gave him an odd look. "You're crazy."

"Maybe." He laughed again. "But I'm saner now than I had ever been." Distantly the swordsman stared at space. "There's really no point trying to make you understand; I can't tell you what it's like. To have a taste of love, of home… then to have it taken away. I have stumbled for so long in the darkness of exile. I suppose I was mad all those years, madder than the Battousai ever was thought of being. Loneliness can do that. Loneliness and emptiness… I lost once… twice… almost. I never want to lose her." He gritted his teeth. "Ever."

Kenshin suddenly became aware of the boy he had been deeply staring at. He shook his head ruefully. "You must be finding me tiresome. So that's why you moved out." He laughed. "Sorry, can't help it."

A long while lapsed before the boy remembered to snort. "Heh," he managed.

"She does miss you, you know. She just doesn't show it."

Yahiko unconsciously nibbled on an untrimmed nail. "You're asking me to move in again," he stated.

"Yes." Kenshin sounded a little shy.

"I thought so," said Yahiko airily. "I already helped you guys in other ways."

"Apparently, the incorrigible Tokyo Samurai is indispensable."

"Yeah… encouragable…" He stopped fiddling with his hands and looked at Kenshin in bafflement. "Encourageble?"

Kenshin just smiled. "Can I depend on you, Yahiko?"

Those fatal words….

"Of course," Yahiko swiflty affirmed. Then he grew serious. "What's up? Is there a new enemy?" He suddenly felt a little apprehensive and sought to grip his bamboo sword for comfort. Belatedly, he realized having left it in the training hall.

"New enemies? None as far as I know. Scads of old ones I'd imagine, though. Some too shy to introduce themselves. Others still trying to keep up with _sessha_." He shrugged. "Actually, I just need help with mundane things. We have to watch her closely nowadays and well… That's among other things. And-"

Yahiko facefaulted. "You want me to join Operation: Stalk the Pregnant Wife."

Kenshin scratched behind his ear, a little embarrassed and uneasy. "I wouldn't put it in those terms." _Anyway, you've been guarding her as fiercely as I am, though unconsciously_, Kenshin mused. He didn't say it aloud to spare the boy from "indignities".

"She'll be tormented."

"I'm afraid so," replied the husband wryly.

"She'll be angry, furious, enraged."

"Aa."

"But she'll be helpless "

Kenshin cleared his throat delicately. "I cannot vouch for that one."

But Yahiko didn't hear him. "And there's nothing she can do about it, right?"

"Yes," Kenshin replied artfully. "I don't think she'll be able to counter our efforts. Effectively."

"This is a dangerous game, Battousai," he admonished sternly.

"Yes, I know. But we don't have to disclose the game plan at all. By the way, don't tell her that I told you."

"Told me what?"

"That she misses you."

"Of course. I wouldn't want the Busu Conspiracy foiled." Yahiko strapped on his trademark bratty grin. "I like it."

He laughed evilly, and laughed and laughed. Then stopped.

"Where is she?" He clapped his hands gleefully in anticipation. "Can't wait to start."

"In the kitchen," came the nonchalant reply.

"WHAT? "

To be continued...

reposted: 011105

---------------------

Old Notes Written Before Repost:

We changed the title from "The Dark Half" because I discovered there's already an RK fic with the same name. Again, this chapter has been sitting in my computer for weeks. -.-; (chants "time management")

Sarlinia: yup, this is as original as a fanfiction can get. we had other inspirations but we'll not disclose it as of yet. It might ruin the story. As for the girl... all in good time. .

Crystal: thank you. we hope it wouldn't remain cute through out the whole fic. Yahiko grin (Right, Shirodachi-sama?)

Shirodachi: you haven't been introduced, dear. P I'll try to speed it up. I'm too l/crazy right now. .


	4. San

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. 

_White Friend_   
~ Melpomene & Shirodachi   
**Three**

The summer heat was testily pushing its limits, the tension evident with the air quivering almost nervously: the effect was the surrounding's surreal quality. The sun was the painting's artist, brushing the colors of the world to run into each other, blurring lines of distinction. Or maybe the sun was getting tired of it all and getting peevish with his work; the fierceness was not so leashed then. 

Kaoru fanned herself as she sat despondently in the shade. It wasn't too hot yet, being so early in the day, but her boredom seemed to amplify the discomfort caused by the heat. Kenshin finished all the cleaning and laundering before she even woke up, probably "cheating" with his superhuman speed. He breakfasted with her when she did awaken, and had just left for some odd jobs he took to contribute to the dojo's earnings. Of course, he left her explicit instructions: relax, don't exert yourself. Same old. As if she actually wanted to move in that sluggish sweaty heat. 

Even her latest hobby he took away from her. Kaoru had taken up embroidery since that was one thing she wouldn't possibly tire herself physically. She did it to humor him, so that he'll leave her alone. No such luck. The plan misfired when he found her muttering furiously under her breath and crawling for the idiot needle. 

"Dear, you don't need to do this," he said sweetly, casually stuffing the sewing materials in his gi. "I can sew any design on any of your clothes." 

"But I don't want you to sew them," she answered rather tartly. 

"Oh, then I won't." 

"Kenshin, I'm doing it for leisure. Doesn't the word mean anything to you?" 

"Oh, look. That's the little bird romancing you yesterday." He pointed out the window, and she forgot about the one she was sewing on her sleeping robe. 

But yes, she did see that little robin again on the yukata. Its wings were finished, as delicately as she could never manage, and with several crooked stitches set aright. 

_Himura Kaoru, you are being a lazy self-gratifying pig_, she thought. _And you're not the only one karma will punish_. 

"I need exercise," she declared out loud. 

With that, she marched to her bedroom, grabbed her parasol, and went out into the yard. She stood for a while, lost in thought. Finally, she shrugged and stepped out the backdoor. She could just take a walk and not worry about having a destination. 

She allowed her feet to take control of direction. Her pace was slow, relaxed, but even under paper umbrella, the sun burned fiercely. Muttering to herself about the heat, she looked around the tiny dirt road and caught sight of the trail passing through the woods. It was their shortcut to Akabeko, an alternative to the crowded winding thoroughfare of the prefecture. 

The dark green of the conifers was soothing cool to the eyes. It was fairly indicative of how much cooler it would be in there. Gladly, she entered that shady forest, snapping shut her parasol the moment she stepped across the border of light and dark. 

She continued to walk, contentedly breathing in the peculiar smell of trees. There was a welcomed silence that met her, as if the wood itself slumbered in the serenity. It was different from the uneasy silence of the dojo, the feeling of emptiness, of forced listlessness. But the forest floor was littered with old needles, and the quietness was accentuated, not marred, by the faint rustling elicited by her every step. 

Her thoughts soon swallowed her. She wondered about Megumi -- how her faithful search for her family in Aizu was going, how she managed her booming medical practice, how she, perhaps unwittingly, littered her letters with hints of displeasure on the roosterhead's silence after that single "hello, fox, I'm still alive. that's all" on the back of a sketch of a city called New York. 

On to Sanosuke her thoughts flew. Where was the bum anyway? She didn't mind him filching food elsewhere, but his letters were gradually becoming more and more spaced apart. Surely there were mail posts in whatever corner of the world he was in. Some indication that he was still alive was certainly in order. 

Last time, he boasted of realizing something profound about all the women across the globe. She struggled on whether that was a good or bad thing, and, of course, what it was all about. Kenshin was uselessly cryptic, only chuckling in amusement over her musings. 

In tradition of spontaneous female conspiracy, she thought about her disapproval on Sanosuke's lack of farewell to Megumi all those years ago, something both Tae and Misao shared with her. Of course, there was nothing suspicious between those two except for their endless bickering, but intuition insisted on something amiss. Sexual tension? She kicked that out of her head quickly. 

It was Yahiko who called attention to the whole rancid business. He mentioned it on a visit to the doctor's home. Megumi only sniffed nonchalantly and flipped back some of her straight black hair away from her face. 

Yahiko. Yahiko and his confusing switch between opposing moods. Yahiko and his embarrassed fussiness and awkward insistence to give her comfort. Yahiko and his cold peevishness, sharp words, and abrupt actions. Yahiko... That brat! 

Serenity broken, Kaoru morosely peered around her surroundings. She was considerably far from home, but the trail was still there anyway. Perhaps Tae wouldn't mind a visit. 

_Exercise_, she thought and walked on, going in a quicker pace. Only a little later, she stopped on her tracks, startled by a seeming oddity about the shadows she glimpsed at the right corner of an eye. 

_What? _

She turned and saw the source of the looming polygonal shadow: A shack. 

The shack. Of course. The fool boy mentioned something about somebody moving in it. Improbable as it was, she decided to drop in on the new occupants, being their new neighbor and all. But it didn't look like somebody was home. The house was silent and motionless. 

She continued to study it as she decided on what to do. The little house was not made of paper and the usual materials but of the heavy dark wood of the very trees in that forest, a rare thing in the area. Perhaps, it was fifteen years old, already -- or older. The wood was mossy and rotting, but it was still a mystery how it stood for such a long time. 

Involuntarily, she took a step, nearing the old house. And another before she stopped again; the distinct sound of the leaves underfoot was absent. She looked down. 

A gasp caught her throat. Black lines swirled around her feet. They became smudges, and ran into each other like spilled paint. They still danced around her feet. Round and round they went, sucking her into their movements, their vortex. Down, down, down... 

Into the darkness. 

Into the nothingness. 

Into... 

Kaoru shivered violently, the sudden cold stabbing her bones. She broke off her hypnotized stare on the singed earth. 

A circle of scattered ashes. That was what she has stepped into. Most likely it was from a murai-bi, the welcoming bonfire for the ancestors' homecoming this O-Bon. 

_But O-Bon starts tomorrow_, she thought. _Why...? It's too early._

Still that house, she could imagine, would have lots of guests, indeed. Briefly she wondered which was nearer, her house or Tae's. She could run out of there as fast as she could, which was not that quick. And not that pleasant. 

A voice floated across her thoughts. 

_Kaoru-dono, what could you have been rushing for that you're so out of breath?_

His imagined admonition broke her train of wild thoughts, and she mentally gave herself a smack. 

"Foolishness!" she said aloud. 

There she was drifting in the middle of the woods like some ditz. The sudden cold must have been due to the disparity of temperatures in and out of the sun. She mustn't have noticed the difference sooner because of the ditzy spacing-out episode. 

She forced rationality into her brain sternly and began to muse. The bonfire should be a week old, or so, fairly indicating that there had been somebody there. But that didn't necessarily prove that they have a new neighbor. 

"Hmph! Yahiko no baka," she growled to herself. "Look. It's that simple." 

Simple, indeed. Yet, she couldn't make her legs move, and she glared at the house in affront. The house merely looked back at her darkly, not stirring. She, Kaoru, was being bullied by a rickety old house that could probably fall apart if she screamed hard enough. 

"Ooooh..." She huffed irritably and resolutely marched up to the silent house. She stopped again as her foot hit the first step up the porch stairs, an unwelcome chill running up her spine at the loud creak. She glared again, but walked on, this time slowly, and the indignant wail of the old boards were muffled into low moans as the aged wood bore her weight. 

At the door, she paused, though there was hardly any of it left. The rice paper had probably disintegrated long ago, leaving the skeleton for her to pick through. Half of the frame of the door still stood, as if still expecting to be slid aside. The other half was lying on her path in pieces. 

"H-hello?" she called, all the while chiding herself in her mind for not doing so before actually trespassing. "Is anybody home?" 

There was no answer. She walked on slowly, squinting to see in that shadowy interior. The shades of gray were at least starting to form shapes. There, at the corner of her eye, she could make out something moving towards her. And footfalls. She heard some indistinct ones. 

"Sumimasen," she said in relief, turning towards the figure. "I'm Himura Kaoru, your neighbor. I just stopped by to welcome you. I'm sorry I came in like that. Nobody was at the door and..." 

Her voice fell hollow. Silhouettes became clear enough for her to able to tell there was nothing there. 

Perhaps, it was because of the sudden light change, she reasoned. 

And the footsteps? Or that sound? 

It could have been somebody there. And there was a way to confirm it so. She sauntered--or, waddled-- to that direction, jumping in surprise almost immediately when the floorboards squeaked yet again. She paused to take a breath and calmed herself, exhaling deeply. 

She froze. 

What was that? 

_What?_

That. That white wispy thing that slithered inches from her face. That thing that curled itself into invisibility. 

_Nonsense. _

But she waited, her heart pounding. A moment passed. And another. A heavy uncomfortable sensation resting on her chest dawned upon her-- she was still holding her breath. 

Stealthily, she released it. Slowly, slowly, she let it all out her nose, and again appeared the airborne undulating creature. She wanted to scream in exasperation. 

_It was just your stupid breath_!!! she screeched internally. And yet, relief mingled with the indignation, relief. Relief at what? And the emotion was promptly squelched by her bravado. 

Into the house's interior she ventured, seeing more and more of the room by dim patches, the gray retreating as she made each step. There was a table in front of her now, there where she had seen movements. The pale white stared at her from below, and she awkwardly bent halfway to peer back. 

Rice paper. And calligraphy with such beautiful penmanship. Each stroke seemed laden with meanings -- a piece of art, laden and cryptic. 

The leaf leapt to catch   
the first drop of rain, but missed   
and plunged down the earth. 

Having been raised by a swordsman, Kaoru's orientation was not to the arts but rather to the more practical and martial. Haikus usually had obscure double meanings, and those she usually couldn't quite decipher fully, couldn't quite see. Yet, she found something off in the haiku's flow, an imbalance somewhere. She was no poet true, but something felt odd in the poem's structure itself--a lacking, a hanging thought or feeling, an incompleteness. 

_What?_

She knelt, nonetheless drawn by the gorgeous work. It wasn't quite flawless; the light strokes seemed wispy at times, and the full ones were lopsided. That imperfection carried the piece's mystery, its calling to the audience. 

Tentatively, she reached out, her hands splayed. Perhaps... perhaps, she can feel what it meant. Perhaps, touch would yield answers. 

Soon, she felt the grainy texture of the paper. Lightly, she grazed a character, and the ugly black trail that followed her fingers shocked her as much as the sudden , fleeting flashes of emotions that flickered in her. 

Betrayal. Anger. Rage. Sadness. Regret. 

It was impossible. She could have sworn the writing was dry, dry as bone. The paper was musty and yellowish. The writing was even faded in areas. In fact, the whole thing must have been quite old. It must have. Then why? Why and how? 

Her questions did not remain long in her thoughts. Horrified guilt came to her, and she groped around the poorly lighted vicinity for something, anything that might possibly repair the damage. 

There was a brush and a pot of ink. Should she try to fix it? She should. Could she? 

It was probably a relic -- she has marred a page of the past! Dozens of accusatory eyes stared at her, demanding. Thus intimidated, her shaky hand moved to lift the brush. She dipped it into the inkwell. 

But it was impossible to correct and she knew it -- and so did they. 

The disembodied admonishment finally snapped her control, and she bolted. Anything to get out of there. Anything! 

She dropped the brush and slammed both hands to the table for support. She pushed herself to her feet quickly enough, but the pressure at one edge sent the table stumbling to its side, hurling the inkpot against her lap. It spilled its contents and fell, and fell... 

The darkness splotched. It slithered towards her feet, moving swiftly down, the dark streaks sharply contrasting against her light-colored kimono. Like blood. Like blood stains. 

And, more slowly, the blackness crept up her clothing, as well. Those tendrils reached up, up, up. Too near. Much too near her belly. Too near! 

Fear overrode her mind, but she was frozen. Again came that sensation of a probing, that feeling of being observed, of being called. But she was frozen, and time stretched, stretched so thinly. 

It was coming. It was. Blackness swallowing whiteness. Inexorable. 

Coming... 

A shattering sound. 

Her mind cleared. Her eyes shot to the sound's source, away from the growing stain on her dress. The porcelain pot's hundred pieces lay at her feet. But the sound of its demise echoed in her brain, lingered in that empty room, dispersing it. It. 

_Run_! her mind screamed. 

And she did. 

~~~~ 

Yahiko abruptly stopped running and groaned. That Kenshin. Of course, Kaoru was not in any danger. She was probably doing much better than any of them, lying stretched out on a futon for an afternoon nap or else stalking about the compound in utter boredom. It wasn't as if some vengeance-bent crackpot would actually break down the dojo wall and throw a tantrum at not finding Himura Battousai within. Those kind of things just doesn't happen to your average pregnant young woman. Then again, your average pregnant young woman isn't married to a retired celebrity assassin. 

The boy forced relaxation into his pace but only succeeded in turning his run into an odd-looking trot, still breathing quickly. If only _people_ delivered instructions more clearly, his life would run much more smoothly. Case in point was the incident a while ago. 

Yahiko was going about his work when Kenshin popped up behind his shoulder and spoke: "Ano, Yahiko? I know you're busy, so I'll make this quick. I'll be late this evening, so if you would finish early, could you please go straight home? Only if you can. Domo." 

He said it all in one breath and vanished. 

Yahiko scowled. Okay, so it wasn't exactly an explicitly-stated command to bark and run home. It wasn't even an order; it was just an innocent request, a mildly, though briskly stated one, made by a man who tended to be calm, and easygoing, and long-winded. Unless... 

If it was "unless," Kenshin wouldn't have stopped there. Besides, the man could jam a heart-rending speech into a single word when he deemed it necessary. Kenshin was probably just being his thoughtful --and overprotective, and paranoid-- self. There wasn't going to be a major showdown; a page from history wasn't going to be resurrected again in his backyard or on a duel to the death. And there certainly was not going to be any Tokyo samurai Myoujin Yahiko rushing to the rescue. 

At that last thought, guilt stabbed him. Hard. It wasn't fair; he knew that. Of course, he didn't want anything to happen to his teacher and Kenshin. Kenshin didn't deserve any more pain. The man should be let alone to enjoy peace, obscurity, and the puttering over his young wife (not that Yahiko could ever puzzle out what fun was there to derive from such an activity). Kenshin didn't need crazed people demanding a comeuppance, a fight, or worse, an overdue payment of sheer pain and agony. Yahiko was indeed getting tired of the domestic quietness -- but not that tired! He could always piss of Kaoru if ever he gets desperate enough for excitement. 

_Yeah! Pester and fester_! he comforted himself. 

Didn't that sound a little half-hearted? 

It was still Kenshin's fault, Yahiko maintained, having him running around like that. Tae didn't mind him going home early ( the Akabeko had extra workers that day), but he had wanted to talk to Tsubame. Then there was the woods again. If it weren't for his haste, he wouldn't have taken the shortcut at all. Not that he had any problems with the shortcut. 

His neck prickled. 

That. That was his problem with the trail. Always, his instincts seem to go crazy in there, telling him that somebody was watching, and yet there wasn't! 

It was those damnable trees and their damnable shadow-casting, he figured. The battle of light and dark within that forest seemed to throw suspicion everywhere. Of course, it was much cooler in there compared to outside, so he could be having temperature-induced goose bumps. Anyhow, the dozens of places an attacker could hide was too much to risk to make that trail a time-efficient alternative path. He did owe Kenshin enough prudence to avoid trouble with his past nemesis and to avoid being targeted for bait. 

See? It had nothing to do with the shack and the girl with the stare. Nothing at all. 

_Since when have you been prudent?_ Kaoru's voice rang in his head. 

He sniffed indignantly. _I'm always prudent_. 

But then, he apparently said that last bit aloud; apparently so, for somebody replied. 

"Too prudent, perhaps, if I maybe so forward to suggest?" said the familiar voice behind him. 

Yahiko gulped (it was merely to relieve thirst), belatedly realizing that he had stopped walking entirely. He knew who owned that voice. It was the girl, the girl with death in her eyes. No, not the violence of a warrior's death glare; indeed, he has seen quite a number, ranging from the Battousai's to his rival's, the Mibu's wolf. It was the absolute stillness of death, the void of the uncertainty that lurks beyond the grave. She with her white face. With her white hands. Those eyes. Those tattered clothes. And those eyes. Her black hair. 

Those eyes. 

_Oh, please don't let it be that creepy girl_, he thought hard, not even bothering to feel ashamed. _Please, don't let it be her._

But he turned anyway -- and nearly jumped in surprise. 

It was the girl, all right. But how different from how he remembered her! Reluctantly, his mind took in the green of the plain kimono she wore, the green of trees only diluted so, perhaps to match the lightness of her pallor; the long draping sleeves proper for an unmarried woman -- a woman!-- and the obi tied well enough to satisfy the fashion sense of Tae and her gaggle of friends. Her lustrous hair was neatly combed, the coiffure held by a single pin of tortoise shell. Her alabaster face was untouched by either blemishes or cosmetics... She was looking at him quizzically, and those dark eyes on him was unsettling. But she was... she was pretty. 

Kusoooo! His mind moaned in mortification at the two mental images clashing in his brain. It was just your stupid imagination and you ran! You ran, you cowardly-- 

"Yahiko-san," she spoke quietly. "Konbanwa." 

He was planning to at least greet her back, of course; common courtesy demanded so. His mouth wouldn't work though. Heck, it won't even open, much less create a sound. Thankfully she didn't wait for an answer. 

"I am so glad I have chanced catching you pass by. I have been waiting for you." 

Her waiting for him? Gods, the girl was still freaking him out, normal appearance or not. It was stupid. Yet, there she was, standing there, waiting for some acknowledgment normal people -- unlike him!-- would give. He was being rude, he realized, and that he already had been so when he ran away from her before. Twice. 

Finally, Yahiko mentally smacked himself and unhinged his jaw. 

"Good evening, uh, miss," he said. "How can I be of service?" 

At least he was being polite as Kaoru had suggested often enough -- he'd die if she ever found out. The girl smiled. It was a rather primped-and- starched smile, very different from the one that flashed in his memory. 

_The one you imagined, you idiot_! his mind growled. 

He tried to smile back, and failed, most likely. Maybe his smile was not unlike hers. It certainly felt as weak as hers looked; she was probably still mad at his behavior before. 

"I would accept whatever service you would render gladly," she said in that still mysterious voice -- Yahiko felt his hackles rising-- while still keeping the ghost of her smile. "I have found a certain lady's article inside my house. I believe it may belong to your sister." 

"Sister?" 

"A young women. Her belly is heavy with child, her eyes alive and bluer than the bluest sky." 

"Kaoru? She came here?" What he would otherwise consider an insult didn't even register in his mind. 

She nodded slowly. "Perhaps it is, this Kaoru-dono," she said. "I am not truly certain if we speak of the same person." 

"Well, she fits the description. But I don't think she'd be out of the house at all." 

"I see. Thank you for your attention anyway." She bowed deeply. "I take your leave." And she turned to go. 

How stiffer could she get? Yahiko nibbled a lip uncertainly. So now what? 

"Um, er..." he said. 

She turned slightly to cock her head at him. "Yes?" 

"I could take a look at it, if you want. I mean, I'm sure I'd be able to tell if it's Kaoru's or not. That thing you found, I mean." 

A tentative but much brighter smile broke on her lips. "You will?" she said. "That would surely be of help." 

"Er... yeah." 

"Come then." She bounded up the steps to her house. The change in her previously lugubrious movements did nothing to ease Yahiko. She was still freaking him out. Remembering Kaoru's remark -- he seemed to be doing so quite often-- about being nervous around all girls at his age, he snorted in contempt. The girl was just upset with him; that's why she was so cold to him earlier. Now, she's the same as she was when they first met temperament wise. Without, of course, the embellishments his imagination added to her appearance. 

Furious and ashamed of himself, he followed her into the shack, all the while bracing his prideful self to give an apology. 

"Hey, you know about the ah, last time? I'm sorry about running off like that. I was kinda in a hurry and all that so..." 

She turned back to him halfway to the door. "Oh that," she said in a rather neutral voice. "No offense taken." Her face was back to its taciturn reserve. 

Yahiko shifted. "Uh, urhm.. yeah. That was pretty rude. And I did it twice at that so really-" 

A wide smile had crept into her mouth as he was speaking, in amusement, perhaps, at his discomfort. "I did enjoy the omochi," -- she inclined her head slightly -- "Thank you very much." 

"You what-? I mean, you're welcome. Consider it a welcome-around-here gift." 

That was a start. She had smiled at him. Of course, the smile sent chills down his backbone, but then... 

"Are you coming?" she inquired. 

"Uh, yeah." 

He followed her up the creaking steps and unto the aged landing. Entering immediately was out of the question; the doorway stared back at him challengingly, his one-eyed patch especially malevolent. The wooden frame of one of the doors stood there half-dressed, neatly-cut rice paper stacked nearby to repair that. The other lay half-hidden in the shadows of the house, waiting for its turn. 

The girl deftly removed a bowl (in it was a sticky paste of rice) out of the way and turned once again to apologize. 

"As you see, I have been trying to fix this house," she said. "I apologize for the inconvenience." 

"Er, nothing to 'pologize 'bout," he rushed in mild embarrassment. Kaoru would die to make him as polite as that. Really. Was he wrong in thinking they were of the same age? Even so, the thirteen year old rebel without a cause spoke, though, in seeming haste, a magnanimous offer befitting the Tokyo Samurai he claimed to be. Yes. "I can drop by again tomorrow, ya know? Help you set up and all that. You just moved in, right?" 

Now wasn't that an excellent question? 

He blundered on at the lack of reply. "And I can help you with repairing your shoji. I just thought-- you were repairing, right?" 

Yahiko really wanted to strangle himself for being such a wonderful conversationalist -- if only he wouldn't get knocked out from lack of oxygen before succeeding. She didn't seem to mind (or pretended not to) anyway. Looking elsewhere, she seemed to be considering the suggestions. 

"That's very gallant of you," she said hesitantly. "But I-" 

"Lady, I insist," Yahiko found himself interrupting. 

"Are you certain it would inconvenience you in no way?" she asked almost expectantly. Almost. "Really?" 

"Uh, yeah." 

She beamed at him. "Thank you very much, Yahiko-kun. And to think I was afraid it might rain tonight, too! All for nothing after all." 

There. She had called him Yahiko-kun. Finally! For some reason, that relieved him more than anything else. 

"Come, come!" she chirped, now very much transformed. "We still have time for tea." 

He entered. It didn't matter how the yawning doorway resembled a hungry phantom's jaws too closely or that the house seemed to want to devour him, swallow him into its mysterious depths. It didn't matter that he didn't even know her name. She called him Yahiko-kun. 

"How impolite of me. I'm sorry. I am known as Shirodachi. It completely slipped my mind to introduce myself first." 

There. He now had a name to associate with the face. Shirodachi. Her name was Shirodachi. 

To be continued... 

Edited: 092703, 01:44:37   
Reposted: 2:03 PM 10/25/2003 

------------------------------ Old Notes Before Reposting: -_-; I didn't want to post this yet. But since I made a mistake in posting and can't delete the wrong chapter by itself, I had to post the new (and correct) chapter. 

Yuki-nomori: I'll continue the story, though it'll go slow. ^^; I'm glad you found this interesting. I hope you keep interest too. ^___^ Umi no Yuki: Thanks. I hope this gets more interesting. =) 

Shirodachi-chan: Nyahahahaha.. You're introduced now. =( a little bit earlier than planned though. =P Why no one reads this fic is not your fault, baka. And don't say no one. *points up* THEY're readers, ne? XD Everybody who's reading this: Thank you for your time. Bear with me. College is a pain. Questions, comments, complaints, whatever welcome! (er, yup. i think i can bear flames *dead pan* Aku Zoku San) Comments boost our enthusiasm, too, you know? XD XD 


	5. Yon

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. 

_White Friend _   
~ Melpomene & Shirodachi   
**Four**

Himura Kaoru was an exceptional young lady. Certainly, the people close to her would vouch for that (out of her hearing, of course). She was sensible, intelligent, hard-working, brave, strong, and a string of other notable characteristics. However, being around other people with similar exceptionalness --even if we restrict the said people to those she shared a roof with-- she rather pales. Set side by side with Myoujin Yahiko she was weak; by the Battousai, she was stupid and simple-minded. And right then, she was feeling all of the above. 

The low table she was sitted before was laden with the now cold and unwholesome meal she had taken much pains in preparing. It was upsetting: her cooking was not perfect, granted, but she still tried her best. The fact that her work today was actually an improvement over previous ones did not comfort her at all. The problem was her mood. It wasn't amiable from the beginning. 

A contributing factor to her sour state was the afternoon walk she had taken that did not go well. Though it was sweltering hot, the brief run she had gave the release she desperately needed. However, exhaustion insultingly settled in her bones immediately afterwards, souring her disposition as irrational as it seemed, because everybody kept insisting it would happen if she as much as flexed a toe -- it doesn't! Today was a coincidence. She did not feel faint every single time she had to physically exert herself. It was irrational of them to think so. That was just today. 

Some strange things happened in the woods as well, probably meaningless ordinary things costumed by the heat and her sleepy head. She could have taken a nap when she got home, of course, but pride forced her to resist. Kenshin too often warned her about going out, and snoozing extra hours would only add weight to his "suggestions". 

After resting a bit, she started cooking supper --something he explicitly told her not to bother doing. On hindsight, it might have been excellent advice, but of course, she couldn't admit that now, could she? They had been saving those ingredients for a special evening, but then she figured any night was as special as can be–even though it was raining cats and dogs. The poor dear shouldn't have been scrimping, anyway, after all those years of being roofless, cold and half-starved. Anyway, everything went well-- there were no accidents in the kitchen at all. She managed everything herself: the preparations, and the cooking, and the double-checking of all the steps. 

The table she set was quite exquisite, so it was with pride she sat down to eagerly wait for the others. An hour passed suppertime, though, but still no one came. A little irritated, she finally decided that enough waiting had been forced on the little one she was carrying and resolved to begin her now tepid meal instead of waiting for those thoughtless _boarders_. 

The first spoonful was out of her mouth in a flash; sukiyaki _was_ meant to be sweet --but not that sweet! Seasoning the stew was one of the first things she did; too much water must have evaporated afterwards. She resisted gagging, chewed on chopped greens instead, and spat them out. Apparently, the tough, grass-tasting things were undercooked. 

Now feeling increasingly disgruntled, she plodded her spoon around the stew for beef. That, she couldn't have possibly failed at; the meat was not exactly inexpensive, so she directed much of her attention to its preparation. All else could fail, she thought with resolve, but even tasting those succulent thinly-sliced buttered beef could cheer her up. 

Of course it had been too much to hope for. All she found were shriveled crumbs of meat, lots of the shriveled crumbs of them floating on her too sweet soup. Not all of them were free floating, though. Some other pieces were tangled, tangled with the _still_ crunchy noodles. 

It was all she could take. At that point, she choked on her mouthful of mushrooms -- the only blasted things in the whole confounded bowl that seemed all right-- and began to cry. 

Surely others would agree that it had all been too much for one day! First, there was her over-gallant spouse, who didn't seem to realize he bested the savage summer heat in stifling her. Next, there was that incident in the forest that left her miserably confused. Now, this... 

Slouching to a more comfortable position, she resigned herself to dejected weeping, pushing her tear reserves to their limit. She was too tired to vent her frustrations violently, as she was wont to do, so thankfully, the Kamiya household did not lose any china that day. It was only then she could cry her ill-feelings out of her system. Then nobody would see her. 

Of course her fitful storm did not entirely suffuse her bodily drives; hunger did not care about the comforts of self-pity or vows of eternal lassitude. Sniffling wretchedly, she discarded her broken chopsticks, filched a new one from the thankfully-absent Yahiko's place, and wolfed down the now cold, perfectly-cooked white rice, chewing viciously between sobs. Paired with stale tea, it wasn't much of a comfort food. At best, the omoochi weren't too bad, but those were leftovers from a batch Kenshin made. Impossibly, her mood further deteriorated. 

Still, storming and weeping was all very well while they lasted, but sooner or later tears and voice run out, and brooding thoughts would lapse to a tiresome repetition of increasingly lame complaints about the unfairness of fate and the rest of the world's glib uncaring. So, she sank into the empty serenity that settles after a rainstorm. Blue eyes gradually cleared up to stare into space and later to wakefulness. 

She laughed. 

How silly! All that over a cauldron of sukiyaki gone wrong? She wouldn't even have the right to beat up Yahiko when he finds out and laughs about her predicament -- not very hard anyway. And certainly Kenshin-- she didn't even want to think about what his reaction would be to her current state, but she certainly wasn't going to let him see it. 

As mentioned earlier, Kaoru was sensible when she wanted to be so. Looking ruefully at the mess before her, she sighed in resignation and began stacking unused plates. Judging from the time she must have spent crying, she figured the others wouldn't eat home anymore. Now, where were they? 

Tae must have asked Yahiko to stay for supper while waiting for the bad weather to pass, while Kenshin-- well, as for Mister Kenshin Himura, served him right for being so inconsiderate. He could starve as far as she was concerned. In fact, he could also keep the practice swords company in the training hall that night. 

She sniffled indignantly. Of course, if he saw her first -- no doubt he would-- she would find herself against the wall, not even able to slip in a brief admonition of her own. It had to be headed off. 

Thus, she found herself abandoning her current chore, instead tidying herself in their room. A little later, she was interrupted again. Nature, sometimes, cannot be told to wait. Feeling rather irritated by her sudden urge to empty her bladder, she tottered to the outhouse, grabbing a lamp as an afterthought. 

On the way, she glanced at the time piece sitting on her dresser. It was a gift from Misao and Aoshi -- well, it had his name on the tag, though it was surely Misao who picked it out, judging from the eager expression she was then wearing. It was an hour and a half before midnight (meaning she had cried for hours), too much later than they were accustomed to come home. To her, it didn't make any sense. Surely Tae wouldn't allow Yahiko to stay so late, albeit the boy could be so stubborn at times. And also Kenshin. With him acting like a leech most days, it wasn't like him to come so late without prior notice, especially since he told her that morning he'd be cooking that evening. 

_Ha!_ thought Kaoru rather vindictively. _Your fault I got forced to cook myself._

Now if only she could be sure the one-time assassin with a heart too great for his stature hadn't gotten himself into some stew again -- the one she made certainly needed him first!-- she wouldn't have to think about a full-grown man capable of caring for himself. Yahiko, on the other hand, was still a boy. 

At that moment, she passed by the boy's room, empty and dark. Passing by those dark hallways made her glad she had taken her night light with her. Having forgotten to illuminate the compound with lanterns earlier in the evening, her whole house was draped with darkness. The lamp she carried was sufficient though; it's sturdy yellow light pushed through the thick lonely darkness, carving for her a path, forming a sphere of brightness where she tread. 

Her thoughts returned to Yahiko. Yahiko was still a boy, whatever he might say or insist on, and shouldn't be out at such a late hour. He could only be playing truant, perhaps calling on Tsubame and shamelessly abusing her hospitality. The boy was pretty darned slick, all the same. Of course, Kaoru, like all other siblings -- or almost ones-- couldn't quite figure out what the shy sweet girl could possibly be interested on that rough, brash student of hers. If only Kenshin was half as slick as Yahiko-_chan_ tonight he might slip through-- 

A sound, barely detected by her ears, interrupted her thoughts. It could have been the dojo gates, barging open to present the two vagrants, so she turned back to open for them in case they had no key. Midway her pivot, she halted, the pressure in her abdomen too heavy to bear. She turned to her original path-- they could wait. She certainly had waited enough herself! 

Kaoru realized then how badly she needed to relieve herself-- she was actually sweating a little at the effort to keep it in. Her bladder was cramped, all the extra space taken up by the baby cuddled in her. She shuddered as her body frantically alerted her of the overload. 

Was that sudden sensation up her spine really to inform her of overdue bodily function? If so, why were her hackles rising? Why was the hair in her nape standing attention, her skin sprouting goose bumps, a disembodied knife stuck between two discs in her backbone? It was not natural. Instinctively, she spun around, angry that either of the boys had actually enough guts to try to play with her. 

There was nobody. 

Impossible. How could he move so fast? 

_Duh. He's Kenshin,_ her mind replied instantly. 

"Kenshin, you've had your fun," she yelled angrily. "Now, come out!" 

Nothing in the blackness outside the safety of her incandescent protection stirred. She peered carefully, searching for anything to betray the location of her mischievous husband. 

"I am not happy," she went on, her voice wavering slightly. "Come out! I know you're there. You're getting rusty, old boy!" 

No answer. No fond chuckle. No irritatingly soothing words. No lithe fingers covering her eyes. No strong arms coming to crush her with tenderness. She glanced behind her suspiciously but found nothing. She grunted; Kenshin wouldn't go that far. 

Yahiko. That boy must be concealed somewhere, enjoying the show, trying to keep from bursting with swallowed glee. He must be somewhere, snickering and plotting. But where exactly? 

Kaoru strained her eyes, staring beyond the boundary of the feeble reach of firelight. The darkness seemed to tense against her beacon, an intruder and enemy; it seemed so oppressive all of a sudden... But she could see nothing outside the circle of dirty light. 

She started backing away warily. Outside, outside they danced, twirling around her in a mad-capped choreography, nipping at her wildly. She must get away, yes, but where? Where? Where would they come from? 

From where? 

The circle only goes round and round. Where to start? There was no start. When to end? There is no end. Where to now? Where from? 

The movements of her head shifted from gradual to frantic. She whipped her wide blue eyes from side to side -- and still saw nothing but that ominous black. 

Where? 

From the roof? 

Outside? 

Oh, behind! 

She spun around. Found the same thing. 

Where? 

Her heart was racing; the panicked questioning was drowned out by the palpitating rhythm. Blood thrummed in her temple, rushing to her head -- running! -- as the dark overcame light, as her circle's protection ceased to give what it gave. Her space shrank, and shrank, and shrank... Finally, she bumped against solidness. She was caught. She was doomed. 

She fell, a piercing death scream jammed in her, fell as the dark triumphantly swirled to oneness around her. 

She was caught. 

~~~ 

Himura Kenshin came home that night with an exhaustion that seeped deep into his bones. It was not borne of the sanguinary dance of metal against metal, but of the simple menial laborer's exacting physical dues. Blood rushed through his vessel in anticipation. It was not the remnants of the fierce music of battle, but of an excitement, an eagerness to see home and the woman that made it so. 

He did not find his wife in the places he expected her to be. The dining table was a mess, though partly cleared, so he saw the remnants of the long cold dinner --that could signify trouble, he thought. Their room was likewise deserted, as was the dojo. He walked along the oddly dark hallways, searching; worry was starting to gnaw in some distant part of his consciousness. 

Suddenly, there she was, stalking about in a hallway. She was so intent on her sneaking, so... desperate. She bumped against him and with a soundless shriek, fell. He caught her, of course, and then froze as the expression etched on her face caught him as well -- an expression he knew so well. 

Thousands of pairs of eyes skittered from the abyss to cloud his vision. Their eyes round and wide with stark terror, their eyes those of a hunted animal caught in a corner, those of a beast sure to be the feast of a powerful efficient predator. The Battousai had reasons to demand his target to remain unnamed; nonetheless, what he remembered from their eyes were all the same, were as destructive to his sanity. Those were the eyes that stared back at him in that fraction of a second that stretched endless winters, in that interim where, in stark terror, the soul attempts to escape through the eyes, before the unforgiving dogma of razor sunk unto their flesh. 

That was the look he never ever cared to see again. Never again. Never on her. _On her_. 

"Oh god, Kenshin!" 

The horror heightened in her eyes. She must have seen his expression now, seen how the iciness of self-abasement and guilt slid to engulf him. She must have seen the tightening of his face, so old, so gaunt, so worn in that aged rays of the lamp she still carried. She must have realized how hopelessly damaged was this soul she cried for and longed to heal. For such a damned long time now. 

No. 

She crumpled in relief. Shamelessly. 

"Kami-sama!" she managed, panting. "You scar- You startled me! Don't just pop out like-" she stopped, alarmed. "Kenshin? Mou! Kenshin?!" 

Kenshin snapped out of his trance, eyes softening as his immediately sought hers. "I'm fine," he said soothingly. "You startled me as well." 

"ME?" Kaoru exclaimed incredulously. She refrained from further speaking to catch her breath. 

She was afraid of him, Kenshin thought. Though that was always a given he had accepted from his bloody career, he felt the distinct pang of pain akin to betrayal. She was afraid of his anger. Over what? Over the flubbed meal he saw on the dining table? Over that petty thing? 

"I'm fine," he assured again softly, taking advantage of the lull, looking carefully at her blue eyes. "Everything's fine. But-" The subtle catch in his voice betrayed his hurt. "Did you really think I'd be that upset over the sukiyaki? And those ingredients? H-How-" 

It didn't take long for Kaoru to shift from listening in disbelief to scolding indignantly. "Hello?" she squeaked. "_You_ angry? You have a lot of nerve! You have no right, baka. And what's this nonsense about me being scared? Oh, I was scared, all right. No note, no message, no nothing! Of course, I'd be worried. BAKA!" 

The rapid change in the emotions rushing through him there and then would have been enough to make him faint. The poor man's wife was even faster, though. She left him no luxury to recover: she slapped his arm repeatedly for good measure. 

He on the other hand, clucked immediately despite the attack. "Oh baby," he said, his soul in his eyes. Exuberantly, he took her in his arms to calm her, explain, and patch things up. Of course, that also effectively pinned down her raging arms to her side. He began apologizing profusely about his work, and his overtime, and the kindly gaijin ojiisan who- 

"And the brat!" continued she. "He-" 

"Yahiko isn't home yet? I asked him to tell you I'd be home late and-" 

As if on cue, Yahiko arrived, blithely whistling his way down the dark hall. 

"Oi, what's with the lighting?" he asked nonchalantly. 

"Where have you been?" Kaoru demanded. "Boy, how long is it till midnight? How inconsiderate can you get?! The nerve of you- Mou! I've been stewing here wi- How could you-!" 

Yahiko seemed oblivious to Kaoru's blistering tirade. Even Kenshin had no luck in conversing with the boy. 

"I'm beat," was all Yahiko said as he by-passed them. "Let's go talk tomorrow. Would you mind that? Oi. By the way, tanuki-chan, I have something for you. I sorta had to use it." 

Surprisingly, she placed a dripping-wet object on her hands carefully, then moved on. The pair watched him disappear in the shadows in bemusement. Kenshin, however, also found his wife's reaction odd. He watched her in rising alarm as she stared at what appeared to be her rain-slick parasol, her eyes clouding with panic. 

"Kaoru?" he asked in a barely audible voice. "Are you okay?" 

She giggled nervously. Only that. He could see the way her blood vessels stood out against the white skin that stretched tautly over her temples. She only giggled; nonetheless, the strain of forced cheerfulness was evident in her voice and demeanor. 

"Ah, nothing," she reassured. "Only a pregnant woman's peculiarities. You know." 

There wasn't quite anything he could add to that, that wouldn't invoke her wrath. He prudently let it pass, though still holding her comfortably in his arms. Through partially-lidded eyes, he observed her, forehead slightly furrowed as he deciphered the night's events, lulled by the pitter-patter of another night shower. Her sweet scent, balmy and befitting her name, served to calm him, allowing their closeness to chase away his fatigue. He retreated into that tiny secret world of his-- there where there was just her and her alone. 

"Kenshin?" 

"Yes?" came his sleep reply. 

"I really need to go to the bathroom..." 

~~~~ 

"Ya-hi-ko-CHAN!" 

The chorus of bell-like voices broke through the deep-seated tiredness that kept him swaddled in sleep. Ayame and Suzume were usually adorable enough, even early in the morning, but all Yahiko-chan could do was groan and peer back at his wake-up callers with a blood-shot, sleepy eye. 

"What happened to you?" demanded a different voice -- Kaoru's. She was standing behind the two kids, arms akimbo. "Well? Are you sick?" 

Yahiko just groaned. Lying on his belly, he strained to push himself out of the futon-- to no avail. His strength failed him, and his arms flopped down futilely at his sides. 

"Hah," his teacher said rather smugly. "Serves you right for staying out late." 

And he could only watch as she waddled out. 

Later, after dealing with more of Kaoru's inflection-infested comments, Yahiko was puttering about the Akabeko kitchen, uncharacteristically looking busy though actually having little work done. Tsubame was with him, but was being more productive. At that moment, the focus of his attention was her -- or rather, what he was going to say to her. Lucky for him, she began speaking first. 

"By the way, Yahiko-kun, what was that urgent business you had to attend to yesterday?" 

Or maybe not so lucky, after all. 

"Tae-san said, you left early yesterday because there was some sort of emergency. What happened? Is Kaoru-san all right?" 

Yahiko continued fanning the hearth, the flush on his face not entirely caused by the growing heat of the embers. "Oh, that," he said, in the middle of a yawn. "Nothing. Kaoru's great. Um... Kenshin was out late so he asked me to go home early." 

"Oh, I see." Tsubame looked like she was contented with his answer, but Yahiko knew she knew he rarely called his teacher "great." Anyhow, he did not lie to her. 

_Oh?_ said that guilty voice in his head. But you didn't tell her the truth either. 

Oh yes, he did -- part of it, anyway. 

Yahiko scowled. He couldn't understand why he felt compelled to hide from her that he had stayed out late in the woods chatting with a stranger. Of course, he didn't understand exactly how he managed to stay that long. Her shoji was quite easy to fix; besides, she worked swiftly, neatly gluing piece after piece of paper on the wooden frame with delicate fingers, time moving with the flow of her hands. 

Shirodachi. That was her name. She didn't give a surname, but Yahiko asked for none. Somehow Shirodachi was enough. 

She didn't really give him much information about herself. All she said was that she came from a northern province here in Edo to visit a relative for the Obon festival. As for Yahiko's puzzled comment about rumors of the dead heirs of that house, Shirodachi said it were probably true. The house was just given to her, not as birthright but as a gift, a gift from a friend she did not mention who. 

With growing wariness, Yahiko realized that he had been the one doing all the talking. It was dangerous, the way he had been yapping about his life like an eager puppy yesterday. After all, schemes and plots to take vengeance on Kenshin came in different forms; he couldn't afford to dismiss anything to nerves, and risk getting Kenshin or his family hurt. Still, who could believe that an enemy would use that thin, wide-eyed girl to further some murderous ambition? But then, Kenshin himself once married the spy of his enemies. Yahiko knew nothing could be taken at face value. It was something he learned, having been orphaned and left at the hands of the Yakuza. 

Again, what would a lunatic want with Tsubame? Yes, that's what he had been talking about mostly, Yahiko thought back, blushing deeply. For some reason, Shirodachi had been interested about her. Or perhaps not. Shirodachi was merely being polite, listening to him talk about the three-inch tear in Tsubame's apron --it got caught on an exposed nail head-- or about that particularly adorable little cowlick on top of her head that stubbornly refused to be combed down. Now, how did he manage to stir the conversation that way? 

Kaoru said girls would make him nervous; he didn't want to believe it, but there it was. Last night, he was babbling like the genki Misao of the Aoiya. He didn't like it one bit. 

Shirodachi gave no sign of noticing his mood. She was a polite conversationalist. She did ask about Kaoru -- a lot actually -- Kaoru and the baby she was carrying. 

Yahiko frowned. _Why such interest? She really could be a spy_... And ask about sugar and rice balls? He shook his head. Why was he being so suspicious all of a sudden? Shirodachi was just making small talk. Besides, when he volunteered information about Kenshin, she skittered away from the topic, as if... As if afraid, as if knowing the past concealed behind the sweet exterior of the kind man. 

"This is pointless!" Yahiko burst out. 

Tsubame blinked. "I'm sorry, Yahiko-kun. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." 

He blinked back at her, eyes bleary. "Tell you what?" 

"About Kaoru-san. You said it was pointless, and you're right. We will visit her tomorrow, anyway." 

"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Kaoru's fine," he repeated. 

"How much longer now?" 

"A month, or less," Yahiko said, making himself pay attention. "Megumi might come to visit before then." 

"Oh, will she be the one attending to Kaoru-san's birthing?" 

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." He tossed the fan aside and sat back to rest on his haunches. 

"And her patients?" 

"That's the problem. We'll just have to wait and see, I guess. Misao said she'd bug Okina 'bout it, but _he_ told her to go bug Aoshi. Maybe they'd come for a vacation, too. Maybe not." 

"That'll just leave Sano-san missing," said Tsubame sadly. 

"Well." Yahiko stood up, thinking; Now, about Sanosuke, Megumi, or Misao, Shirodachi didn't ask. "Can't be helped." 

"Too bad." 

They were digressing, Yahiko thought sourly. It was his fault, of course, for being such a gutless moron. Where should he start anyway? Where to start! 

"I suppose they can't all make it by the Obondori tomorrow." 

Yahiko's eyes widened and flickered a few times: she just gave him an opening! "That'll be cool, if they do, though," he said in a rush. "I mean, by some freak miracle or something. By the way, even if they don't, you'd come with me to the dance, right?" 

He would have turned red, if only he wasn't already so because of the heat. Kicking himself for being so abrupt, he waited for her reply nervously, avoiding her face. The silence deafened him -- even the gaggle of the gossiping cooks in the other room was blotted out, as was the ominous cackling of the fire beside him. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, jumping about near-hysterically in his chest. Finally, he took a peek at her face to see some sort of reaction. She had her back to him. 

"It's in the left side of the cupboard, Tae-san," Tsubame called out. Then she turned back to him distractedly. "What was that, Yahiko-kun? Tae-san was asking me something." 

Yahiko facefaulted. _Second chance!_ he thought to himself fiercely. " I thought about what you told me and I figured Kaoru and Kenshin do need time alone," he said casually. "Soo I'd probably go alone to the dance tomorrow -- I mean, the others won't make it in time, anyway. And I was wondering if you'd go with me?" 

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Tsubame in excitement. "I thought you'd never ask, Yahiko-chan!" Her hand shot to her mouth; her eyes were wide and startled. "Gomen nasai! I shouldn't have said that, Yahiko-chan! I mean-" 

He moaned miserably. That was all he could do anyway, watching her face glow like the coals. 

"Please don't call me Yahiko-chan," he said feebly, very aware that he mirrored her extremely embarrassed face. 

And it was all he could say about that. 

~031303, 9:45

To be continued... 

Edited: 092803, 00:37:40   
Uploaded:2:05 PM 10/25/2003 

Notes: To Guardian Enzo, Blackheart Syaoran, BLooD_SuRfeR. Thanks for reading and thanks for the comments. =) 


	6. Go

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. 

_White Friend _   
~ Melpomene & Shirodachi   
**Five**

Sunshine escaped past the too-thin fingers reaching for them, flickered down to touch the shadowed woods, bounced from some places, devoured in some others, ultimately triumphant in reaching the damp earth, though too paled to heat noticeably. It was an old lesson to the trees; no matter how they towered, how their huge forms blotted out the skies, their reaching branches could only gather as much of the sun's life-giving rays. Those rays always danced away from their upturned leaves, thus giving other life forms the chance to thrive at the feet of the giants, feeding on left overs. Life down there was precious little-- but life, all the same. 

Life down there was cool that morning, as was relatively the rest of the vicinity, for the day was a rare and mild summer one. However, Kaoru was not one of those enjoying nature's respite, despite being swathed by the light breath of the trees. In fact, she was hot, sweaty, breathless, and excessively aggravated. 

No, it wasn't Kenshin's fault, she firmly decided. It was easy to blame everything on the humble rurouni; he'd accept it mildly. The man was utterly too sweet, too adorably irresistible to have him bear the brunt of the irritation her misfortune caused her. Still, he was the reason she had to run to town, run back from there, and pass through the wood's trail, all in secrecy. How could it not be his fault? 

Kaoru had a perfect plan set for that day -- before he ruined it all. She was going to pick up Kenshin's gift that morning, taking her time to take the long walk to the pier and back home. Because of the incident last night -- the fact that he came home late and scared her witless to boot -- he promised to go home for lunch and cook her sukiyaki, the meal she had wonderfully ruined last night. No amount of sweet nothingness could talk him out of it, so she resigned herself to racing for home. 

A notorious kick from within her knocked the breath off her throat. In fact, the baby had been active all morning, as if that early conspiring with his (or her) father and chastising his mother for sneaking out. Gasping, she slowed to a tired lagging walk. There was no sense tiring herself or the baby anymore, since she was going to be late anyway. Kenshin wouldn't be happy about it, but that couldn't be helped. At her state, he would not be happy at all. 

Even so, on coming before the now distinguishable yard of the shack, she found her steps tapering to a stop. The incidents yesterday barely registered in her mind - her memories were to vague to make out anyway. Yahiko, however, directed another shaft of intrigue on the shabby hut. If it had been odd when he came home last night blissfully disregarding their inquiries, it was even more so that morning when he lethargically pried himself from bed and off to the Akabeko. He didn't even bother to dose her with his ever charismatic attitude before he left; it was as if he was too tired to act up, if that was possible. Worst of all, he had been evasive about where he got her parasol -- somehow that had to be the key. It had to be, since it caused a certain undefinable disturbance rise in her whenever she set her eyes on the umbrella. From what she was able to gather from the brief, confusing interrogation, Yahiko found her parasol in that house. Which still didn't explain his absence the whole previous evening. 

Kaoru shook her head as she stood before the threshold in indecision. Maybe she was blowing the whole parasol business out of proportion. It was ridiculous to blame the play of her imagination, Yahiko's irresponsibility, and Kenshin's schedule on a mere parasol. She didn't remember using it the other day, so it must have been left at the shack; the owner must have given it to Yahiko yesterday. Anyhow, she left the parasol at home when she set out that morning. 

What she was more interested in was what manner of person would ask a boy to stay that late. Yes, that was the inference she had arrived at: Yahiko must have been at that house all evening. The owner must have also known that it had been she who trespassed on the property. It was only proper for her to drop by and apologize. 

Walking to the entrance without hesitation, she was startled by the newly-patched shoji. This time, she didn't just enter the doorway, slightly slid aside, open enough for her to pass through. Respectfully, she rapped on the wall -- not on the shoji. The contrast of the old frame against the clean white paper was interesting, but she didn't want to risk bringing down the whole thing. As she waited, she noticed an empty container sitting on the side, flaky white stains streaking from the rim, down the sides of the bowl. Scattered randomly on the same area were whitish stains-- these were of wax, not paste -- forming nameless shapes, the crinkled geometry of melted candles. 

Aha! Maybe that was what Yahiko had been busy with last night. If so, she could forgive him for being late then and for failing to deliver Kenshin's message. Helping others was something the boy was wont to and something she encouraged. Now, if only she could confirm it with the owner... 

The inhabitant was probably out again -- either that, or he couldn't hear her. Too impatient to wait any longer, Kaoru stepped in, ignoring both th ever-present creaking that accompanied her every step and the stern warning in her head that told her that entering without leave for the second time wasn't the smartest thing to do. Because the sun was directly overhead, light managed to sneak its way past the wraith-like shadows, suffusing the room with a musty, faded incandescence. Old, worn tatami lined the floor, she now noticed; few else could be found in that dusty room. Unabashed, she walked to the partition, stepping past it, and into the adjoining room. That was where she had gone to the last time, she realized, and found herself staring down at that piquing poem again. 

Kaoru drew a long, deep breath and swallowed. The alluring calligraphy was still there -- but not the streak, not the ugly streak she marred the page with yesterday! How could that be? 

Disbelievingly, she bent slightly to take a look, squinting. It was hard to see with the black flecks rushing from the corners of her eyes, that characteristic dimness one encountered at entering enclosed, poorly-lit places after being out in the sun for a long time. It was still not there, that blot of ink. She began to doubt her own shadowy memories. And she began to feel afraid. 

A crash was suddenly heard; that sound of porcelain finding its death against the merciless floor, that last cry before falling apart caught her attention. Her eyes went at once to that space on the floor before in dreadful anticipation, expecting the sight of black liquid seeping into the tatami mat, lapping at her feet -- no, that she had broken before. The inkwell wasn't even in the table. The sound came from behind. 

Kaoru spun to look but immediately froze. Someone had been in the room all along! And not just someone--people that were too busy to notice her. No wonder they didn't hear her knock... No. The wonder was that _she_ didn't hear them. 

It was a thin ceramic bowl that made the noise. The girl carrying it had dropped it in her haste and was now groping about its shattered remains, as if to gather the spilled water. A long wail interrupted her futile chore, and she went stumbling to her companion. 

The other woman, lying supine on the futon with blankets pilled atop her, was obviously in the throes of a violent labor. Her panting raced in the tense atmosphere of the room, occasionally joined by sharp cries. Her face was red, sweaty; her hair spilled across pillows in tangled mass of chaos -- the same chaos that must be rampaging in the other girl's mind. 

She was barely a child, Kaoru realized, a girl of about twelve or thirteen. Her black, black eyes were wide and frightened, owned by one merely victimized by fate. 

"What must I do?" she cried urgently to the pregnant woman. "What can I do?" 

"Jou-chan," the woman gasped out. "It's coming. Stay with me!" 

"Me?" Kaoru squeaked. 

But as if to make up for Kaoru's hesitance, the girl was swift to assure her assistance. "I'm here!" she called out. "I'm here, but what must I do?" 

_And me?_ Kaoru thought. _What must I do?_

_Do nothing_. A voice seemed to echo across her memories. The mama-san. _That foolish girl had it coming. She didn't count the days well and drank the herbs too late. She will lose the child but not before suffering long and hard -- ample lesson for idealistic idiocy._

She will lose the child... 

Fear surging through her, Kaoru brought her hands to curve protectively against her belly. Her child was still, so still -- was he afraid like her? Still, she remained frozen in place, for it was the only thing she could do. It was the only thing to do. She did not know what else. 

The delivery was long and hard, but all she could do was stand there motionless, gripped with terror and panic herself. Blood. There was blood, blood everywhere. Red was all she could see, red that enveloped her sight, stained all. Red stained the tatami. It stained the blankets and the bed where the new mother, drained and exhausted, was resting. Her legs, too, were stained red. 

The infant and the girl, with her plain kimono and simply-tied obi, stood in the center of all that mess; her jet black hair, straight and undisturbed, crowned her serenity. The girl smiled down at him gently, smoothing the gossamer hair from his damp forehead. 

"Welcome," the girl murmured. "Fate had us share the same beginning. But I will help you, if nobody will. I will be your friend. I promise. Friends forever." 

He remained there lying in her arms, still and silent. The girl gazed at him as he remained there unmoving; but then her dark gorgeous eyes slowly dimmed into the dullness of burnt-out coal. They slowly rose to regard her silent spectator. Her expressionless eyes came to meet shocked blue ones. 

Profound sorrow first filled Kaoru, but it was swallowed too soon as horror sprung to grip her chest. Kaoru knew then, at the sight of those terrible eyes. She knew. 

It was sudden. The girl simply wrenched her arms apart, totally pulled them from underneath the child. The infant instantly fell down, its lifeless limbs floating in the life-giving air for the first and last time, down in its descent to its grave. Kaoru, tears in her eyes and with a mournful cry, dove to catch the little one -- and clasped only emptiness in her shaking hands. 

Red. Red and black everywhere. Red and black and a tarnished impure white. Everything coalesced into a puddle of colors, a puddle of sanguinary red, malicious black, and corrupted gray. Kaoru was crying too hysterically to stop. 

But suddenly, she did stop. 

There were voices, soft, hesitant, but eager voices. She strained to listen, searching for their source. 

"Mother?" it said. 

"Mother?" echoed another. 

A chorus of tiny voices chimed out at the same time. Sniffling, Kaoru continued to look for those children but sadly shook her head to indicate her lack of understanding. 

The disembodied voices began to cry. 

"We thought you had come." 

"You see, _she_ never came." 

"She was supposed to meet me!" 

"No, me!" 

"But she's here! She's here for _me_!" 

"Aren't you her?" 

"She already said no!" 

"But maybe.." 

"Yes." 

"Will you?" 

"To care for me?" 

"And me!" 

"Feed me, dress me. Cuddle me, too?" 

"Oh, and me!" 

There were giggles all around." 

"For all of us then!" 

"It's so lonely out here, see." 

"We could be friends instead, if you don't want to be 'mother'." 

"Yes! We can play!" 

"You'll play mother!" 

"Please?" 

Voices. Voices all around. Voices all around raised in supplication. Kaoru's heart ached for them, ached to take them all into her arms and comfort them. She knew how it felt to have no mother. She knew what it meant to be so alone. And she ached for them. 

"Where are you?" she asked hoarsely. "Please come out." 

"We-" 

"-dare-" 

"-not." 

"They-" 

"-they." 

"They'd take us!" 

"Oh, it was horrible!" 

"I'm scared." 

"I was sleeping-" 

"And then they came and took me." 

"They took me too!" 

"Oh, so scary!" 

One by one, they came out, little boys and girls hiding in the shadows. Barely visible, they glided to surround her from all sides. 

Kaoru wiped her face and tried to sound as mature and comforting as she could. "You're safe now," she said. "Nobody's gonna hurt you." 

They came nearer, tentatively reaching out with their fragile little hands, still shrouded by that fog-like presence. 

"Have you came to protect us?" 

"Yeah, like her?" 

"She takes care of us." 

"But she get's lonely, too." 

"Very lonely." 

"And, oh, so angry!" 

"Shhhh....." The admonishment came from all around. 

"Hey, you can be her friend, too." 

"Oh yes! You're as big as her." 

"You can play with her." 

"So will you stay?" 

Kaoru rose from her knees slowly. Her limp arms seem to move from her side on their own, reaching out to those tiny voices in a welcoming gesture. 

"You will?" 

"You will come to us?" 

"Will you?" 

She took a step. 

"Oh you will!" 

"Where are you?" she asked. 

"You're almost there..." they encouraged her. 

"Come closer," chorused another group of them. 

"Here! Here!" 

But the fog, that smokey screen seemed to thicken around her. Half blind in the grim darkness, she groped to find her way, touching nothing. 

"I can't find you," she said. 

"Here," they answered. "Reach out your hands." 

"Where?" 

"Near." 

She stretched her hands further. 

"Here... Almost." 

She strained. 

"-there..." 

She could feel them now, feel tiny fingers brushing against hers lightly, oh-so-lightly... feathery. The fog was lifting. She could almost pass through now. Almost... 

But then... 

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, ONNA?" 

The darkness shuddered and shattered. Kaoru spun around to meet her challenger headlong, a man with an old haggard face. His thin figure loomed against the light streaming from the open doorway. The whites of his huge cavernous eyes were stark against the shadows wrapped about him; the effect was startlingly malevolent. Kaoru could only gape at him in blank consternation. 

"Well, woman?" demanded the deep, angry voice. 

"I-I'm sorry," was all Kaoru could stutter. "I didn't know. I'm going now, sir. I'm really sorry." 

She walked out of there in a steady pace, her legs too shaky to go any faster. Merely following her with his wild gaze, the man did nothing to halt her escape. She continued steadily to home, too fazed, too shaken to sort her thoughts. 

But they were in there, anyway. Her thoughts swirled inside her, violently clashing and assailing each other, but producing not a single stream of coherent ideas. She paid little heed to them anyway -- even her child was calm and unmoving within her. She was only attuned to the still damp earth underfoot, to the occasional clump of brown speckled needles, to those dying in the forest floor. 

"Kaoru?" 

She jumped, a gasp coming to her lips. Kenshin came from behind her, as she turned around. 

"Kaoru-dono," he said with a deliberately straight face. "Please watch where you're going. I don't think trampling sessha will be quite good for the baby." 

"I didn't see you," she said. Her voice came out as a croak, so she cleared her throat. "I just went out for a walk." 

"Sessha noticed de gozaru." There was a wry undertone to that. 

She took the hand he offered. "I didn't intend for you to," she murmured. 

Whether or not he noticed the clamminess of her hand, he gave no indication. Almost too casually, he asked, "So how are you?" 

"Fine." Beads of cold sweat stood out from her pale skin. "I just went out for a walk," she repeated. 

"Yes," he murmured, frowning slightly as she scrutinized her, touching the back of his hand to her neck and forehead. "Feverish. I should have asked Kowaji-dono to find somebody else last night." 

Kaoru stared at him for a second before the meaning of his words entirely sunk into her brain. 

"Uh... Kaoru-dono?" 

"You idiot!" 

She swatted his arm. 

"Don't you dare start with that again! It's not your fault they asked your help to save the minister's gaijin visitor's daughter's cat. I mean, it is sort of deflating and all, but you _are_ the only one who could sneak that high in pitch darkness -- how the heck did that cat manage to climb that far anyway? Besides, what does that got to do with anything?" 

"Last night seemed to have aggravated you so. It must have some impact on your health. Remember what Megu-" 

"My health?" Her voice was entering that inevitable crescendo. "And feverish? I am not sick!" 

"You look and feel sick." 

"The weather's ghastly. It's like a furnace here." 

"On the contrary, it's rather mild today de gozaru. A ravishing day." 

Kaoru sputtered, beginning to consider the pointlessness of their discussion. "I'm taking a walk. It's only natural my temperature's a bit high." 

"True." He practically radiated benevolence. "Walks are good for the health -- but not when the person's isn't good enough from the start." 

"Whaddaya mean my health's not- What did you say?" 

"Oro." Kenshin blinked. "Which part?" 

"That walks are good for the health?" 

"But it's true, Kaoru-dono." 

She sincerely tried to moderate her already elevated temper. "You approve, huh? So then why do you _forbid_ me from going on walks by myself?" 

"Forbid is such a strong word." 

"Kenshin." Her inflection screamed millions. 

"The Battousai is a rather possessive man," he told her seriously. "The thought of such unscrupulous eyes drinking in Kaoru-dono's sublime beauty could prompt him to emerge. We wouldn't want that, would we de gozaru ka?" 

Kaoru's eyes narrowed. The evil, evil of those wide artless eyes before her was distracting her. Well, it was also pushing his luck. With a fierce battle cry, she drove a fist up his jaw for an exquisite smack. Her blow connected beautifully, but he caught her hand when she drew her arm back to deliver another one. 

"Let's go home now, shall we?" he said, leading her by the captured hand. 

Kaoru was again reduced to open-mouthed bafflement. He usually humored her with at least one plaintive "oro" per mock hit. 

He smiled at her, a flash of amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Honestly, the sukiyaki's not that bad." 

"Really?" Tears were actually sitting precariously in her eyes. Kaoru clung to his shirt with questioning belligerence. "I don't believe you!" 

"Why am I always suspect?" Kenshin asked with a sigh. "It's really quite repairable, dear." 

"You're only saying that." 

"Yes," he said with flourish. "I'm not writing it to anybody, koiishi. My letters seem to have tendency to give out headaches, they tell me. Something about my handwriting 

"But what did I do wrong?" she wailed. "I did everything the way you taught me. I did, I did!" 

"Maa, maa. It's all in the timing, love. Let's discuss it at home, shall we?" 

~~~~ 

Hidden in the shadowy interior of the destitute hut, a man stood watching the couple walk away. He had been shocked to find the woman inside -- even more when he saw that she was obviously in the family way. And that the red-head man who met her was the father of the one she was carrying. 

The redhead. The redhead chilled him to his bones. That man had the strongest ki he had ever detected in his life, oozed with male essence, practically glowed with yang. The woman was strong in yin, too, though not comparably strong... But maybe, just strong enough to withstand _it_? 

No matter. The critical part was that the redhead sired the child she was carrying. 

This new development was making the situation even more serious. What started as a man's moment of weakness, a wistful ceremony, a useless gesture borne of passion and nostalgia, could be the destruction of others. The stakes were much higher now. The woman was in the family way; the powerful man was her husband. That only made his job more emergent. He had to act quickly. 

Shaking his head, he slipped away into the trail and went his way, opposite that of the disappearing family. 

~040603 23:57 

To be continued... 

Edited: 092803, 22:02:15   
uploaded: 23: 23 11/4/2003 

Notes: gaijin means "foreigner," i think. sorry, i forgot the exact definition.   
To watermelon: wai! I'm glad you found this fic absorbing. We'll see who/what Shirodachi is later, ne? ^.^ don't worry. I'm not giving up on Shirodachi, er... the fic. I don't think it's the sort of fic that'll get popular here in ffnet, and I'm not really expecting it to be. ^^;; I regard reviews as a bonus but I learned not to rely on them as writing fuel. ^^;; LOL Thank you very much for the feedbacks. It's quite thorough, and at least I know that I'm succeeding so far in building the mood, setting up the tranquil beginings, and dropping clues...   
To Kyo-Terayashi: wah... I'm sorry. I made a mistake in uploading Chapter 4 to the default chapter. That should have been prologue. -_-; Thanks for telling me. ^__^   
minna: thanks for reading. always. 


	7. Roku

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. 

_White Friend _   
~ Melpomene & Shirodachi   
**Six**

The wood was as dry as bone. 

Sitting on the rickety old porch, Yahiko shrugged. It didn't matter. Despite the fact rain lasted the whole previous night, the wooden house was completely dry. The fact that they could sit on it contented him, as did the breeze that blew occasionally to complement the cloud-chased sun's gentle warmth. 

Shirodachi herself had been waiting for him there when he arrived, standing before her house silently as he lumbered towards her. Lumber it was; he could barely stand on his two feet out of extreme sleepiness. He couldn't understand why, though. He had slept well last night, calm, dreamless, and deep, but had awakened that morning with bone-seated weariness that chained him to his futon. Kaoru was concerned, naturally--though not as concerned about his health as she was about vituperating for answers about last night-- but he had given her no time to fuss about it. 

In the Akabeko, it had been a different matter. No matter how hard he had tried to glue his eyelids in place, tried to avoid drifting off on his feet, Tsubame noticed--he couldn't exactly run away from her, especially not after she had just told him yes! Even the memory of that gave him a jolt of excitement, as well as a little nervousness. Anyhow, he was still ashamed of himself for failing to conceal his fatigue, as much as feeling it in the first place. It was quite comparable to his embarrassment over Tsubame's attention. The other workers of the restaurant were wary enough of his temper and smitten enough by Tsubame's innocence not to openly discuss and exchange various commentaries. Enough hushed remarks reached the poor boy's ears, however, that told him they were overheard in the kitchen earlier. His red ears must have alerted his co-workers of their conspicuousness, and they stopped all talk totally. Just a few surreptitious glances his and Tsubame's way and a forced back smile here and there were all that had been. The adults could have been ignoring the two adolescents' existence for all's worth , but for some reason that had somehow incensed Yahiko further. Of course, he had to admit that Tsubame's soulful eyes looking at him--though slightly reproachful--gave him the oddest feelings in his stomach, and ironically made the humiliation worth living through. His protests against her ministrations and offers of help had all seemed to die down as soon as they came because she was just too sweet and too adorable and too guileless and… 

Anyhow, when he arrived a few minutes ago, Shirodachi had walked towards him, greeted him, and commented on his early trek home. 

"I missed practiced again," Yahiko had answered. "I went to work early, and Tae-san sent me home." 

Well, it was true. Tae did send him home. He didn't have to tell Shirodachi that he had been sent home because everybody thought he was sick, so he didn't. 

"Come, Yahiko-kun," Shirodachi had then said with smile. "Sit, I shall get tea." 

And that's how he found himself sitting on her porch, idly wondering how the wood dried so fast, even with the sun's half-hearted attempt to shine that morning. 

Presently, Shirodachi was gliding back with a tray full of ceramics. Yahiko stood up politely (politely???) and took the tray from her. She bowed solemnly and sat down on one of the cushions. 

"You wouldn't be offended if I didn't offer a full formal tea ceremony, ne Yahiko-kun?" Shirodachi asked. "I don't believe I have all the proper materials available." 

"Oh no," said Yahiko quickly. "Do you want me to make a run for it?" 

He was startled by her bemused expression. "Pardon me, but would you please rephrase that question?" 

"I'll get what you need from the dojo. I know where Kaoru keeps the tea things at home. She won't mind." 

"Ah… No need for such exertion, Yahiko-kun. " She chuckled quietly, her voice dipping down unexpectedly. "I should have foreseen such enthusiasm for the finer aspects of living from one such as your self. Truly, you have exhibited well the nobility of your lineage and upbringing. " 

"Er…" Yahiko's ears reddened a little. "Actually… that's all right." Actually, Yahiko had never appreciated the whole business. He never got the chance before. Years ago, his mother had been too busy earning their living to actually teach him. As for Kaoru… Well, Kaoru could keep her rib-poking spatula to herself! Of course, had it been Kenshin who had tried to teach him how to go about the tea ceremony, Yahiko wouldn't have been as rude and would have forgone the pukey-green-barf-tea-powder-for-fat-hags comments. 

"Nonetheless, please accept my most heartfelt apologies," Shirodachi replied sincerely, bowing low from her waist. "Please rest assured that the hospitality and welcome my roof offer extends well beyond the meager accommodations I, unfortunately, can only manage as of now." 

Yahiko would have gulped, but instead just decided to agree with her. "Okay. Um, thanks." It was much simpler that way. 

Shirodachi then poured him tea; she was very graceful with it, he noticed. One of her deft hands carefully lifted the teapot, while the other neatly drew away the long, draping cuffs of her sleeves. Tsubame, he thought, was graceful like that, too, though the Akabeko was usually too chaotic for such choreographed movements. In fact, Yahiko was starting to think he should have insisted he didn't want a tea ceremony at all--even as semblance of it--because he now felt like he _was_ in one, and it was making him very nervous. 

After a while, Shirodachi cocked her head to one side and spoke, "You don't like tea, Yahiko-kun?" 

"Eh?" Yahiko said, roused from his thoughts. He looked down at his still full cup and drank from it deeply to appease her. "I do. I mean, it's okay. I mean, it's not like I'm Aoshi who practically lives on it." 

"Aoshi?" 

"Aoshi's a family friend," explained the boy. "Sort of." 

"Oh, I see. He is samurai then? A lord perhaps?" 

Yahiko couldn't help but give her an odd look. "I guess, he might have been of the warrior class. Doesn't really matter now, you know. But yeah." He snorted. "You could almost think that, the way them folks call him 'Aoshi-sama'." 

"Then he is a lord?" 

"I don't know about that." Yahiko scratched his head. "Haven't been exactly born yet those days. Maybe I'd ask Misao--or somebody saner--when they come here." 

"They? Is she who is called Megumi with them as well?" 

"Oh, right. I've told her about you." 

"Not her whole tale, Yahiko-kun. Only that her lover, this man named Sagara, left her bereft." 

Yahiko, at least, had the decency to feel and look sheepish. "Er… Not exactly." 

Shirodachi's dark eyes widened. "Then it was she who has broken his confidence and heart? Did she bed another man in his stead?" 

Yahiko sweatdropped. "Never mind." 

After a while, the girl's eyes began to wander. She became silent for a long time. Yahiko had begun to think he had bored or offended her or something when she spoke in an even, measured tone. 

"Is Megumi-dono a mage?" she asked. 

"Mage?" Yahiko blinked. 

"Hai. A woman of magic and mystical powers. You speak of her with awe and deference." 

_Awe and deference?_ Yahiko blinked again. "No, she heals people. She's a doctor." 

"A healer, I see. Is she in Kyoto as well?" 

"Aizu, actually. She's supposed to be coming over this summer, but I don't really know what now. Last time she wrote, there's a heat wave over there, and her patients' been flooding in." 

"The heat sickness," Shirodachi murmured. 

There was something in her voice that captured his attention and made him abandon his scrutiny of the newly polished and mended landing. The voice was… reminiscent, as were Shirodachi's dark eyes, focused faraway. She looked different, too, from the last time he saw her, Yahiko now realized. The faded flower print of her flesh-colored kimono made her seem less formal than yesterday, as did her plain obi .(If only she didn't open her mouth to spout long convoluted sentences.) Her long, dark hair was simply tied back to keep away from her face. Today, at least, she seemed healthier, fresher. Of course, her seeming grotesque emancipation the first time they met could have been a mere product of his overactive imagination. 

After a while, Shirodachi opened her thin salmon-colored lips. "A long time ago," she said. "There was once a summer when the air shimmered, as if bewitched, and smothered the people of our village with heat sickness. The brook where oniisan always caught the trout we eat for supper in sweltering summer evenings was all gone, all the water sucked dry by the greedy earth. The plants would not come out either. They died in the little seeds that enclosed them, were baked in the furnace-like depths of the cracked soil. Those that did emerge were limp and sickly--for not even the wind came to fan anybody relief--and they rotted away to stringy rubbish. And yet, otousan…. Otousan did not care. He did not care at all. Not even when the man came. 

"Man?" Yahiko had been listening closely to her every word, rapt. 

"Man, yes. The smelly man. The man who reeks of red rust and rotten teeth. He comes with his great knife and barges into our house. Not even oneesan could screech or yowl at him like she does to me." 

"Che," Yahiko said darkly. "So even in your place there are those pieces of trash who call themselves samurai." 

Shirodachi paused. If it was possible, her dark eyes became darker still, as did her pale oval face. After a while, she nodded slowly. "It may be as you have said. He also carried the same smell as otousan. It is the smell of that drink. For that drink, he'd walk a hundred ri, carry many a bushel of grain. 

"I see." Yahiko did see. He knew all about how some people lost control f their appetite for alcohol, how some used sake to drown out problems, to drain away their lives. It was the same as opium, Megumi once said. 

"For his master, the stinky man said. He does it for his master." 

"Like some sort of daimyo?" Yahiko said incredulously. "Lady, where has those guys been for the last ten years? There's no such thing anymore nowadays. They can't harass your family like that. Besides, swords are forbidden by law." 

"Oh yes, sword is what that big knife is called." Shirodachi's eyes were back to that glazed, far-looking expression. "I remember now. But what I would always remember is his weasel grin. Always." She shook her head. "Never mind." 

"Weasel grin?" Yahiko nervously forced a little laugh; he recognized her wish to shift the flow of conversation. "You know what? I know a weasel. A weasel girl, actually. Her name's Misao and she's from Kyoto. Her family owns an inn, the Aoiya." 

Then again, perhaps it was he who wished to change the topic. There was something... A growing ominousness. As if pursing her line of thoughts would lead to a vortex of sort that would suck him past a point of no return. 

"An inn?" Shirodachi looked at him closely– and he almost gasped. Brown. So her eyes weren't black after all, but a deep dark chocolate brown. "What kind of an inn?" 

Yahiko thought for a while, then shrugged, not quite understanding the question. "A regular one, I suppose. You know, like a place people can stay in for a night or maybe a week. Misao would probably advertise or something. Like I said, she might come here with Aoshi this summer." 

"Tell me. Is she entertaining, this Misao-dono?" There was an almost guarded tinge in her voice, something oddly resembling jealousy. 

Yahiko was confused. "Well, I suppose, a weasel girl is funny enough. She's more useful with other things though like physical stuff. Strong kick, right leg dominant. Needs a little work on her roundhouse." 

"Misao-dono is not a mere geisha then? She is of service to this Aoshi?" 

"Er, no." Yahiko tied not to stare at Shirodachi, but that didn't stop the red from spreading across his face. He thought he vaguely understood the part about being more than a geisha--and being of service to Aoshi-- but decided to give a safe answer. "I think Misao's just a waitress or something," he muttered. "I'm not sure if Aoshi actually runs the Aoiya. If I ask, he's as likely to speak as his kodachi." 

"This man carries a sword? A nobleman in the least, surely." 

"Well… Er, I guess he came from the samurai class, like me." Yahiko scratched his head. "Like I said, doesn't really matter." 

"Aa. Indeed, no. Many of the upper class has fallen to depravation, while others merely paid gold for the right to cradle a katana in their dirty hands." 

Yahiko couldn't find anything to add to that so, for a while, they sat in companionable silence. He had gotten a little used to her various oddities, even in those few hours he had spent with her. Her stories tended to be vague at times, but there was always a sort of charm about them. They were very interesting, and he hoped she was thinking up a new one to tell him. 

After a while, Shirodachi sipped from her cup. She set it down before her and leaned back slightly with an arm behind her pressing against the floor for support. 

"Geisha's are interesting people, Yahiko-kun. Did you know that?" 

"Erm…" Yahiko looked at her as if caught off guard. "I've never met one. So, I guess… I suppose so." 

"They are. Tsubame-dono. Your friend. She is talented, yes? In the arts and manners?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You have piqued my interest. Will you tell me about her?" she asked almost shyly. "Please?" 

Yahiko smiled uncomfortably. How was he supposed to talk about a girl anyway? And wasn't that considered impolite? It was all right, he supposed. The girl was Tsubame, anyway, and she wouldn't mind. His smile widened a bit. 

Tsubame, then. And so, he quickly warmed to his subject. 

~~~~~ 

_ A leaf leapt to catch  
  
The first drop of rain, but fell  
  
And plunged down the earth. _

Kaoru nibbled on her lower lip as she scrutinized her work; something about it was… off. It couldn't be her handwriting, she decided. She was quite fair in calligraphy--very good when compared with her husband and his chicken-scrawled hand. There was something else in that haiku that inspired in her a feeling of uneasiness, of a certain displacement of something. Perhaps, it could be attributed to the haiku itself, to its form and content, and to the person who originally penned it. 

The author's identity was another mystery surrounding that piece of writing Kaoru read off from inside that shack in the woods. That was all she could remember--all else was an aggregation of blurry images. Those memories were crucial, somehow important, and yet her mind refused to relinquish anything, insisting adamantly that those events were useless, a waste of time and effort. Remembering was fighting her self. 

_What events?_ she thought to herself sourly. 

What events indeed? It just happened this noon, before Kenshin's perfect rehash of the cauldron of sukiyaki she ruined yesterday. He did not even comment on how he met her in the woods after she sneaked out again. She almost wished he'd say I-told-you-so outright just to get a reaction. Nothing resembling blame could be seen in his expression, even as he watched her weakly (but sincerely) praise his cooking, about to constantly about to nod off over the table all through out lunch. It was unfair, that silent treatment, making her think that he was right, that she was the criminal taking advantage of his affable just and benevolent mercy. 

Still, she felt so tired. It was only natural, she reasoned, after traveling to and from the pier on foot--not to mention staying up late last night to wait for both husband and student! However, she expected her endurance to last, considering she was an athlete. After all, how could she demand all out effort from Yahiko and her other students if she herself couldn't give the same? She did fear exhibiting such weakness--always had--not only because of pride, but also because she knew that _he_ also needed her strength, that it was not only her. She was very tired, that she can accept, but despite feeling so beat up, she wouldn't take a nap. Or rather, she couldn't. She couldn't fall asleep, so she just took up her brush and doodled. Now, every single part of her body felt ready to fall off any second, but the brush remained in her hands, and her dry eyes focused on her work. 

She shook her head. 

"I'm fine ," she said aloud. "I feel fine." 

~ 

Kenshin threw out his tub of soapy water, watched it turn gritty, pick up dust, and slowly spread, darkening the dry soil. Confident that they would dry before sundown, he watched the day's laundry flutter playfully, teasingly pulled by the silvery cool touch of the light breeze to fly off to some exotic faraway place. Surprisingly, his undergarments clung tenaciously to the bamboo pole, resisting wanderlust admirably. Now, while Kenshin didn't believe a man's head--or heart--belonged in his pants, the thought still made him somehow proud of his old, worn fundoshi. That's an odd notion, granted, but at least he wouldn't have to chase after flying garments, only to have them soiled by a nasty flop on the earth when abandoned by the frivolous wind. 

Setting aside his flippant notions, he sighed and went in search for his wife. He found her working on her calligraphy, something he wouldn't dream of doing. She was staring at the paper, seemingly very taken by her work. Her pensive expression amused him at first. But then, he saw her shake her head and tell her herself that she was fine, as if needing convincing herself. 

Which meant she wasn't fine. 

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, then. "That you are?" 

She sighed and looked up at his patched up hakama, and up to his contemplative face. He actually foresaw her succeeding actions, honest--just not their strength! In mock rage, she threw her entire upper body weight at him, clasping his legs to her in a ferocious attack. 

"Baka!" she shrieked. 

That cost him his balance, and he tottered, uttering his favorite all-purpose nonsense syllable. People always gave the one-time assassin a look of disgust whenever he tried to learn swimming in air, but he really couldn't help it! No man would be able to help falling, right? Hitokiri Battousai was truly and sincerely on his way down to a nice graceful splat on his face. 

Kaoru rolled her eyes. "Oooh, you are so not falling," she huffed, firmly pulling him upright. "See?" 

Being returned to his feet and balance didn't assuage Kenshin's rising panic, though. Briefly, consternation passed his face. He quickly replaced the expression with a benevolent, (hopefully) placating smile. A winding apology would only make her angrier, he realized, and decided to deliver the truth swiftly and concisely. 

"Ano…" His determination to confess didn't stop his hesitancy, though. "Er… Kaoru-dono? I'm really, really sorry. And erm… I just want to tell you honestly that I truly didn't do it on purpose." 

Kaoru blinked. "Eeeeh?" 

"Erm… Maa, maa." He cringed and pointed at the paper. 

He should have dried his sudsy hands first, as any nitwit with an eighth of his brain mass would have figured out. He really should have. But then, when he came to take a peek at her, he had intended not to be detected. Anyhow, there they were. 

Wet flecks, darkening circles gradually spreading outward, dotted her work. The black ink was even starting to run in some places, making her lettering spidery and faint--splotchy. The characters she had lovingly brushed, those words they represent seem to waver and quiver as the diluted black bled into the grainy texture of the medium. Perfection was reduced; the ideal was diminished. It was… It was ruined. 

Nobody could really blame the infamous Himura Battousai for feeling very afraid at that moment. Very afraid. 

"Kaoru," he said seriously--bravely. "I really am sorry I ruined your work. It was an accident. I'm afraid you'd have to redo it again , and sessha wouldn't really be able to help much." 

"Are you kidding?" she breathed. "It's perfect." 

Kenshin frowned, finally paying enough attention to the words he read off the ruined art. Yes. Perhaps, 'perfect' was the word best fit to describe it. Perfect. It was a perfectly beautiful piece of art fed hate, sorrow, regret, and maybe even all the horrors of the world. 

To his surprise, she pulled him down to her, blue eyes dancing with intensity. They were bright orbs, bright with interest and intrigue--and a hunger. A certain hunger. 

"Kenshin," she said in the same hushed voice. "Tell me. Come on. Tell me what you see." 

He couldn't deny her that simple thing. Yet his instincts screamed for him to stop. But what harm could a piece of poetry cause? He stared at the calligraphy, too, and delved deep into it. The droplets of water in the paper, coalescing, moving towards each other, rushed at him in an inexorable wave of nostalgia. 

Regrets. Regrets of one too late. The haiku did not simply describe the prosaic death of a leaf in autumn; that haiku was written of drought, of an emptiness inside that threatened to kill. Regrets of one too late--and of one too soon. 

"Regrets of one too late," she said. "And too soon…" 

He didn't realize he had spoken aloud. 

"Yes." She seemed to be chewing on the words with her little white teeth. "Such pain." 

Such pain, yes. 

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes now more subdued but still boring into him. "Talk to me," she said, her voice almost ethereal. "Talk to me, Kenshin." 

"…of one who tried so hard." He couldn't still his tongue and could do nothing but continue to take out his heart. "Of one who waited so long and failed to catch the chance. It." 

Her breathing caught. She crept closer, her large eyes looming closer as if meaning to swallow him. And yes. If he could only, he'd throw himself to drown in them. "Tell me more. Tell me more of what you see." 

All he could do was shoot her an anguished glance. "A leaf, like every other living thing, needs water. Then drought comes. This leaf tries so hard to still its wanting, waits long, so long, for its much-needed sustenance. 

"But then time saps its life away, slowly, bit by bit. Finally, water comes; it comes and the leaf joyously meets it with its last breath. But, oh, too soon! Too soon the leaf jumped. Too late the water came. And I… 

" I remember. I too was too soon, and too late. Too soon for she might have accomplished her intentions and slip away in time. Too late. I stopped too late. Might have missed her with my vindictive blade. Regrets are all they are, but regrets as true as the earth." 

Kaoru's eyes reflected his as she pleaded with him. "Kami-sama," she whispered. "It's just a poem. Stop." 

But he couldn't stop. Those words have invaded his mind, flowed into his soul to transform into powerful, inexplicable emotions and back again as his own words. She made him start, and now he couldn't stop. He kept her prisoner with his haunted eyes of pale purple bordering on blue, blue of bruised unliving skin. "And you… I saw you. When I saw you there with that blade… i-in … And I swear I tried, tried so hard to get to you… reach you. But--" 

"Stop." 

"That, as well. I stopped too soon. I fell too soon. Too soon? Yes. So close. We were so close, yet I was too late then. I failed to catch you, and I fell with you. Did you know that? I did. I fell, and there were regrets again. Regrets as hard as the solid ground. There's also pain." He laughed horribly. "There's always pain. Of course, I deserved it. But not you. Not the innocents. Fate is never kind to its tools. It takes a certain ruthlessness to achieve something important. But sooner or later the price comes. There are worse things than one's own pain…" 

Kaoru's full-armed slap hit him in the face. "Stop it!" she screamed hoarsely. "Stop hurting yourself like this. Please! It didn't happen. I'm alive and well and breathing. You know that! I swear. Please. Stop it. Enough is enough. It's just a haiku. Stop it..." 

Her tirade--not to mention her bit of muscle-flexing--sent him reeling back to his senses. Kenshin blinked. What was he saying? What--Kaoru. She was hurting, too, hurting with him. She hurt for him. How could he do that? How could he say those things? How could he show such raw emotions he had always been careful to sieve for her? The consequences of his loosened tongue left him slack-jawed. 

Kenshin started out of it, hearing his wife gasp. His eyes darted to her in time to see her hand, red as the smarting, throbbing imprint on his face, shoot to her mouth in shock. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to hit you! I mean, well I did, but-- Mou! Just…" 

A frown had replaced the stupefied look on his face; Kenshin forced that off his face as well, and replaced it with what he hoped was comforting benignity. "No, no," he insisted. "_I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to upset you. Crazy things, honestly. I don't know what came over me." He forced a chuckle. "Must be symptoms of the senility Saitou warned about that comes with domesticity. " 

The gaze she returned was deeply troubled. "If your memories of me are that painful--that malevolent!-- maybe Enishi's Jinchuu did succeed, " she murmured. "If your so-called failures haunt you like this." 

"Dearest, no." Kenshin drew a hand down her face uneasily. "Tomoe." He sighed. "You know I loved her." He took her hand, placing it over his heart. "She'll always stay here, and I'm afraid I'll always carry the guilt of her death." 

"It is not a sin to love," Kaoru said sternly. Her visage was quite severe, but he knew she was on the verge of tears. "Never be sorry for that." 

"I know," he answered softly. "That's why I didn't say sorry." 

"Good," she said with vehement satisfaction. 

"I'll always carry the guilt. She may have forgiven me; it isn't as easy for me to do. But see? Time heals all wounds. Scars remain, but wounds are numbed sooner or later, dulled into something you learn to live with. Goodness knows I've hurt so long--the emptiness may even be worse. But not anymore. You're here. You know that." 

"This is not about Tomoe-san," replied Kaoru with a sigh. "I know your grief. I may not know it, feel it the way you do, but I know it exists. I accept." She let her hand hover one of his scars, her fingers brushing subtly against his skin--"She's part of you. I know I can't erase your pain."-- and a single tear managed to evade the clutch of her control. "Ka-kami-sama… And to think I was supposed to…" 

"Kaoru…" He wrung the hand he held, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it tenderly. She thought she was supposed to… To what? There were too many words to fill that blank. She was too much in his life--and all he could do was hold her as she sobbed quietly. 

"Are you all right?" he asked as her tears tapered. 

She nodded, but he allowed a few more moments of silence to pass before speaking. He stared at the offending piece instead. How could a cryptic bunch of words squeeze out his hidden thoughts and feelings, coax them out, and magnify them? How could it inspire such pain, trigger the resurfacing of memories and emotions he kept carefully bundled in his subconscious as much as possible, and worse, transform them into words--albeit broken and barely coherent--that he spoke and harmed her with? That piece reeked of maleficence… of cloaked evil. 

Kenshin had to check himself when he realized he was actually scowling at the insufferable thing. He felt a little foolish doing so. Years of experience taught him never to dismiss anything, especially not on appearance, and his gut became his trusted comrade as well as his wits; instinct and the knowledge etched by practice into his very bones and muscles kept him alive all this time. Still, it was stupid to label a piece of literature as some gospel of the devil. Besides, it wasn't as if Basho or those other great poets wrote the poem. Kaoru wasn't sophisticated enough a writer to inlay such meaning deliberately. And yet accidents--some accidental art comes from the spirit, the soul. Kaoru… Where did it come from? 

He fought down a shudder and instead spoke comfort to his wife. "Honestly, I was just carried away by the mood." He smiled shyly. "You didn't know your husband had a penchant for literature, didn't you? Well, he doesn't. But he's not that ignorant not to notice that it is quite good. Disturbing, though." 

Kaoru shook her head. "No. I didn't write it. I saw it somewhere. It's not that remarkable, really, but it does have literary merits. It bothers me, too." She smiled weakly. "I'm a little dramatic these days, you know," she added by way of apology. 

Kenshin managed to keep a frown from returning to his face. "I see. Where?" 

"In Yahiko's old hut, I guess." 

"Are you sure _you_ didn't write it?" he teased, resolved to keep the conversation light. "Your yellow cotton kimono was stained with ink. In fact, I only managed to rub off the stains this afternoon--after soaking it since yesterday. It's fairly incriminating evidence." 

Her reaction, he was sure, had nothing to do with the lameness of his attempted joke, but he resolved to restrain his own reactions, abiding his time till she told him everything. 

~ 

_Blank ink._

That's what he said. Black ink. 

Images flashed in her head, and she remembered. There was the haiku and that aged paper. There was that ink pot hurtling through empty space, slowly, slowly oscillating midair. In her mind, she saw that tiny ceramic explode upon contact with the wooden floor, its form--almost fluid in that thousandth of a second it hovered a hair's breadth from the ground--bursting into a slithering mass of ebon glob. There it was, that creature, crawling up her legs like some predatory insect, taking its time, but slowly progressing up, up, up… She could feel its cold touch! It was alive, she knew then--still. It was climbing for her baby. Her baby-! 

"--ru! Kaoru! Are you okay, Kaoru?" 

_Nonesense!_ Another image of the haiku rose in her mind. It was untouched; not even the sheet of dust covering the yellowed paper had been distrubed. 

"Kaoru?" 

_Get a grip!_

"I'm okay." The tremulous smile she gave seemed to appease him slightly. "I'm just… I'm sorry about staining my dress. I spilled ink on it the other day. It was only an accident. I promise." 

"Maa, maa," Kenshin replied with aplomb. "I'm sure you didn't mean it. Frankly, I'd be quite put out with you, though, if you purposely did pour ink on your kimono." He turned a mournful face towards her. "Surely, Kaoru-dono is at least a little concerned about sessha's hands scrubbing so hard de gozaru ka?" 

At any other time, she might have laughed at that. The notion of Kenshin thinking along the lines of anything resembling vanity struck her as hilarious, but the dark mood was sill wrapped about her. Still, she found his cheerfulness--if merely an act, done very well--and good mood infectious that she almost forgot that bout of emotional honesty he showed when he was shown the haiku. Almost. 

"Oh my!" Kaoru said in mock shock. "I can't believe you found me out, Kenshin. You see--" She leaned closer, conspiratorially. "--I've always been jealous of your milky white skin. I so wanted to ruin it out of spite." 

Kenshin smiled at her. "If only Kaoru-dono had said so earlier, sessha would have done it himself de gozaru." 

She laughed quietly. "Baka ne." 

"Only…" Kenshin continued. "Aren't all these calluses enough?" He raised his hands, palms open, for her to see. 

"I dunno." She grinned wolfishly. "I rather like them. Especially when they're on me." 

Kenshin laughed. "That's better." 

She stuck her tongue out, slightly pink. "Quit manipulating me into decking out praises on you, mister." 

"No, really. " His expression became more serious. "I was beginning to wonder where you got such sad words. Forgive me but…. I'm glad you didn't write the haiku." 

"Yes, " she said softly. "I found them in that shack. It was just lying there." 

"Speaking of the shack, what were you doing there this morning?" 

"Oh, that. I was just--" she stopped, suddenly remembering what exactly brought her there. "That's right! I've completely forgotten." She hoisted herself up with a groan. "Be right back." 

"Kaoru?" She could hear him following her as she raced excitedly to their room. "What is it?" 

"You'll see." Hurriedly, she threw open the door to their bedroom and fell upon her things to rummage through them. "Found it!" she cried triumphantly, shaking the piece of paper in front of his nose. "Surprise!" 

Grinning, she watched as he took her surprise. "So, shall I go pack for you?" she asked, almost breathless in anticipation. 

He looked at it for a while, an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he spoke. "Kaoru," he said quietly. "This is a ticket to Kyoto." 

"Yes, I know." Though a little puzzled, she remained unfazed. She moderated her grin a bit. "It's for a steamship. Remember that train to Yokohama? No-- um,, Shishio's Rengoku? Like that. Without the weapons, naturally. It'll get you to Kyoto more quickly." She nibbled on her lip thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how long exactly, though." 

His silence still told her nothing. Briefly, he closed his eyes and focused them on her when he opened them. "Kaoru," he started. "You know, I truly appreciate this." 

Kaoru allowed the lingering smile on her face to widen. "I had some hope you will, my husband." 

Kenshin merely opened his arms to her in reply, retaining his somber expression. She stared at him for a few moments. Something was wrong. 

"Kenshin?" 

He sighed, went to her himself, and held her tight briefly. "Kaoru. Thank you, truly." He held at her length and smiled sadly. "And I'm sorry." 

There was a long silence. 

"Can you please show me the way to the dispatcher's office? There's been a mistake." 

"Actually, there's none. I'm not going. I didn't buy mine, since I knew you wouldn't want me traveling in my condition." 

"Exactly. I'd exchange this for a later date when we can go together." 

It took a full minute for her jaw to work. "You don't seem to understand. It's not everyday you can get your hands on a passage like that. It's my gift to you." 

"Yes, and I'm really sorry to have wasted your effort. We can go on a regular trip later, see the countryside. And the hot springs sound nice, don't you think?" 

"What?" She veritably squeaked; she couldn't believe what she was hearing! "Look. I know you're worried about me. That's why I got you a round trip ticket, see? You can pay your respects to Tomoe-san, visit Aoyia, and even your Shishou, then come back home, all in a few days. Can't you see?" 

Kenshin sighed again. It was beginning to irritate her. "Yes, dear, but that's not the point. Tomoe can--" 

"This is not about Tomoe-san," said Kaoru incredulously. "Well, it is, but…. I mean, you haven't had your yearly visit yet--you really should have gone New Year-- and Bon's a fitting time and all. You can still catch the festival in Kyoto and I can't. I do want to go, I do. I want to make sure you won't be a baka, and do all the forms and rituals all wrong. But I'm not going to let _me_ stop you from going." 

Kenshin shook his head-- why was he acting as if _she's_ the one who was exasperating!? "You're not restricting me in any way, Kaoru. It's my decision to make. Tomoe would--" 

"This is not about Tomoe!" Kaoru exploded. "This is about you and your worrying. Nothing's going to happen to me, okay? I'll be fine. You'll only be gone a few days. There's Yahiko, and Genzai-sensei, and the neighbors. They'll all polish and tend to poor fragile Kaoru in her crystal glass case, atop her marble pedestal. If you want, I'll even ask Tsubame over. I'll be fine." 

He did not answer. 

Kaoru huffed. "You're being irrational. The baby won't come until over a month." 

Silence. 

"Please?" she asked quietly. 

Kenshin finally spoke. 

"Kaoru," he said. "You gave me this as a gift, of your own free will. Therefore, it is mine now, mine to use as I please. Am I correct?" 

Kaoru stood still and stared at him for a long time. 

"Do as you wish," she answered, her words sheathed with smooth ice. 

Kenshin nodded gravely and left. 

To be continued... 

Edited: 092803, 23:31:33   
Uploaded: 1:14 AM 11/30/2003 

Notes:   
I have issues with this chapter. Really serious issues. -__- Oh well.   
Oneesan is 'sister,' oniisan is 'brother,' otousan is 'father,' and okaasan is 'mother.' Did I forget anything else? Sorry.   
  
To watermelon: You know what? I've been waiting for some fics to be updated for literally years! (I'm still hoping, even though some of my favorites seem to have been abandoned already T-T) ^^; I can at least promise that won't happen with this fic.   
Child ghosts. I think there's something sad about them because they've never live their lives and they can only live in this earth as shadows of what they could have been.   
Oh well. Till next chapter.   
  
To all: thanks for your time.=) 


	8. Nana

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. 

Seven

The sun was vindictive; if yesterday it treated with a pleasant mildness, this day it gifted with an out-pouring of the energy conserved previously. The air, heavy and stifling, made one feel sluggish and sleepy. Slumber was impossible though--as comfortable as steaming, wrapped up in a sweat-soaked futon, or baking outside on the smarting-hot porch. The temperature rose as the day progressed, as did the temper of a certain junior swordsman.

Being treated a junior person vexed Yahiko excessively. Why, hadn't he fought in one of the skirmishes of the Kenshin-gumi, a battle that surely contributed to the failure of a coup de tat and the downfall of Shishio Makoto? The brief rampage of the fire-scarred, double-crossed Ishinshishi hitokiri could never touch Japan's written history, but actually having a hand (and a ten-year-old hand, at that) in stopping it is surely worthy of note! And then there's that fight with Enishi's goons--that should count for something! Hadn't he won the fight with the Kamiya Kasshin Succession technique? Kaoru herself professed to never having successfully pulled such a move in actual combat.

Now at thirteen, Yahiko's learning pace hadn't slowed down a bit. But _she_ had. There were times when she'd sit dreamily by the river, doing nothing instead of practicing or monitoring him. It was _her_ who hampered his growth. He was simply learning faster than he was being taught. Can she still not trust him? Indeed, she trusted him to some measure. The premier student of the Kamiya dojo was given teaching responsibilities. She always said that there's always much to learn from teaching others. Maybe that was true, but it didn't stem his impatience at all. He wanted to learn. He wanted to know.

He still had a number of unpolished corners and edges, she'd say--and plenty of time to fix it all! Pace your self, went her favorite sermon. Let your momentum be your driving force. You must learn a lesson thoroughly first, before moving on to the next. Every infrastructure has a base; the base must not only be strong, but sturdy and firm. And so we build slowly but surely, paying attention to every aspect, every skill, from base to the pinnacle. That's how we train. 

Fine. So she's married to Kenshin,--but she didn't need to use his deep-explanation-mode vocabulary! She always had a back-up explanation when Yahiko complained. Think of it as a sword then, she'd quip. In forging a sword, you don't heat the metal for a minute and three seconds That, unfortunately, was something he could understand. She'd continue her lecture. You must do this. You must do that. More orders.

Sometimes, he'd make a mistake, would miss a chore, and _then_ she'll have lots to say. Take for example the previous evening's encounter. She had expounded on her topic extensively and energetically.

Okay, so he was sorry about missing practice yesterday, but she acted as if he was some unfeeling, morally-depraved monster who wouldn't accept a mistake pointed out, a chiding. (Hey, she ought to be used to his scowl! ) Did he have to collapse in a crying fit, publicly and emotionally declare his guilt, offer to commit hara-kiri or something? She was overacting, he thought. She was venting her boredom--or whatever it was--on him, nitpicking on his every single movement, in each of his waking moments. Besides, the practice yesterday was a mere make-up session--which wasn't the point, retorted she--and only that pervy, bug-eyed boy who had the hots for the (married and pregnant) shihondai turned up.

As was often the case, their verbal battle fizzled out after a while. (He couldn't possibly assault her physically, anyhow.) She lapsed back into the icy quietness he had found her in when he came home (before she exploded, naturally). Kenshin was as silent, as preoccupied as his wife, the whole evening. He didn't join her when she retired early, and wordlessly left the supper table and the impeccable meal she barely touched. 

That morning, she exploded again. So Yahiko sought his peace among the serene gathering of the stalwart, ever-dignified trees. At least, he had something to look forward to tonight, he comforted himself. The dance was the first one he'd attend with Tsubame--not that it didn't happen before! They do bump in on each other in festivals, but that's because Kaoru and Kenshin usually drop by the Akabeko. But this time, this time he asked her himself. Knowing that sent in him a jolt of anticipation and nervousness. What would happen tonight? Would the fact that he asked her out change anything at all?

It was just a dance Yahiko felt a little silly, skipping about as if he was going to be presented before the court of the Meiji emperor. Still, he couldn't help feeling that tonight was going to be special. He wanted to look extra nice for the affair. He had swallowed his pride very early that morning, confided with Kenshin his plans for tonight, and asked for help in fashion and etiquette. The ex-wanderer smiled sheepishly, murmuring advanced apologies for being lowly-bred and unrefined, and being afraid of being little help. Yahiko was afraid that could be true but privately reasoned that his idol couldn't possible have snared a bride (two of them, actually) if he were truly as gauche and ignorant as he lets on (AN: kenshin is one lucky bastard, that's why). Besides, his days as a patriot surely lead him to close proximity of well-mannered, elegantly dressed peacocks--also called nobles. Kaoru, despite appearances, would have been good help, too; all the same, Yahiko honor-bounded Kenshin to secrecy, demanding him to forswear ever spilling a drop to his wife. Kenshin nodded in resignation, and uttered a plaintive little oro. 

Yahiko remembered to ask his mentor's plan for the night but only received vague answers. After that, Kenshin became reticent, almost brooding. Yahiko was forced to abandon the topic, satisfied that his quarry--privacy--was assured. Only later, after his fight with Kaoru that morning, did he think to connect together the two adults' mutual speechlessness, Kaoru's outbursts, and the lack of the couple's itinerary for the night. 

Thinking back now, he shrugged. Marital friction between the two was none of his business as long as neither of them involved him. Anyhow, Kenshin would find a way to thaw the busu sooner or later, Yahiko decided. Preferably not before the Bon Odori, not enough to tease him.

Now what do people do in the Bon Odori anyway? Obviously they dance. And then what? Maybe Kenshin could tell him. Kenshin? But he's married! Tsubame and Yahiko were not--Yahiko's thoughts broke off, leaving his face red and shiny. 

Still, latent excitement was a heavy load in his stomach that threatened to break out into a thousand flitting, fluttering pieces. Yahiko firmly pushed aside his thoughts on tonight. With his attention restored to the old pathway, Yahiko saw Shirodachi's house nestled among the bushy branches.

Shirodachi's little house looked homey and gorgeously dainty, now that most of the ravages of time and nature had been repaired. That he had given her assistance in the outer restoration gave him a tinge of pride. The wood was now rid of splinters and was polished to gleam like the dojo's floor. No creaking issued when he walked up the porch, thanks to the pieces of wood he lodged under several steps. He entered past the sturdy doors and into the house. There in the middle of the modestly furnished but elegantly decorated room, on the middle of a newly-tatami-covered floor, sat Shirodachi.

"Shirodachi?" Belatedly, he remembered to knock. "Er… Good morning." 

He realized that the late knock was stupid; he had already caught her attention when he spoke.

"Yahiko-kun!" Her greeting was bright and cheerful, as were her clothing and demeanor. "I am pleased to have a guest today. Oh, and even more pleased that it is you." She inclined her head politely.

"And I'm glad to see you, too," answered he without shame--surprisingly. To tell that frankly to a girl should have been uncomfortable. He was pleased to see her and was pleased that she wanted to see him; it was simply that.

Shirodachi looked very nice today as well. Her headful of black hair was a living shiny pearl, even more vibrant against her unadorned alabaster face. The red and yellow peonies of her kimono seemed to blaze with the young sun's rays that strayed into that still austere home. She was pretty, he thought. No. Beautiful.

Shirodachi demurely ducked her head again. "Thank you. I am flattered." Did he say anything aloud? It didn't matter. "Please sit yourself, my friend." 

Myoujin Yahiko sat down on the offered cushion with the grace and austerity befitting his rank, befitting distinctions between human beings of bygone eras. In her hands, he saw, were pale, delicate blossoms-- mere wildflowers, though pretty and sweet often overlooked--artistically arranged. Wordlessly, she handed a bunch to him.

Stalks of different lengths held up the three blooms. Yahiko stared at them, contemplating on the pattern they bore. He rolled the stems on the pads of his fingers until the thin dainty things bruised, the smell of crushed grass wafting faintly, some dark smudges visible on some crooked petal. Earth. Man. Heaven--the hierarchy stayed the same no matter how he turned the stems, no matter how mutilated the tiny things came to be. Brown eyes followed the fall of a pink petal; Yahiko looked up, wincing.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, embarrassed. "Not really trying to be destructive here." 

Pale white hands reached out to take the ruined flowers Yahiko sheepishly handed over. Eyes of deep vibrant brown --the only living color on the bleached pallor of Shirodachi's face--studied him closely, disclosing none of their secrets but prying his own.

"Anger can cause ill circumstance to pass whether or not anybody means it," she spoke quietly.

"Ah… yeah." Yahiko could only agree. What else? "Sorry all the same. And yeah…" He ducked his head awkwardly. Well, I've been told to control my temper better."

In that solemn face, her thin salmon lips relented to a tiny smile, as if to comfort him. "These little ones are of no moment. I only engage in ikebana to pass time. But you. Are you wroth with me, sir, these hapless blooms bear the brunt of your rage?" 

"Huh?"

"Your anger has to be directed somewhere. Have I given some offense?" 

"Er, no? I'm not mad at you."

"I'm glad to hear that, Yahiko-kun, but mayhap… Never you mind."

_Mayhap?_ Yahiko thought. _What kind of a word is that?_

There was a silence for a while, and in that silence, Yahiko exhaled deeply.

" Such a great sigh surely has considerable roots," commented she.

Yahiko sighed again. "Life with tanuki-busu's a bitch," he muttered.

"Oh?" Shirodachi's expression was flummoxed. "I've never known of a cross between a tanuki and a dog. Such a creature would certainly be ugly." 

"You don't have to take every thing so literally, you know," he returned with a grimace.

"Literal?" Her fine face cleared up. "Ah, so it is Himeki-san you speak like. Full of riddles and such. He makes good haikus. Explain yourself, Yahiko-kun, please? I've been schooled in poetry, you understand? Of course, I have never mastered the arts sufficiently…" 

"Eeeeh? Himeki who? And you talk like one of those--? Geisha? Like my mother's cousin. I remember we used to visit her when I was little…" 

He left it at that, not wanting the dogmatic defensiveness to rise to his throat like bile. His mother wasn't one of them, visited by the richest and most powerful. She was just one of the many faces, mere masks, in the pleasure quarters who serve meat in exchange for rice. A poor exchange--_but it was for me,_ came the thought fiercely, and sacrifice like that has to be the noblest of all noble shit. She died with as much honor as his father did. Yahiko shook his head. His fight with Kaoru seemed to have loosened up some of his old memories. 

"You are angry still," Shirodachi said. "With your mother?"

Yahiko hesitated, surprised. "Well," he said with unbidden honesty. "Sometimes, I guess. Childish of me, I suppose, but yeah." He shrugged. "Or maybe with myself, 'coz I was too young to defend her honor. Maybe… Maybe now I'd be good enough…" 

Shirodachi wasn't paying much attention to him anyhow, riveted by her own thoughts. She was gazing far, mumbling vaguely.

"Mama-san said I wasn't good enough, though too good to waste." 

"That didn't really make any sense," muttered Yahiko almost plaintively. He couldn't help it. Most of the time, he thought he understood what she was saying. He suspected her words had veiled meaning--but really! Now, she smiled at him warmly.

"Only that you explain yourself, Yahiko-kun," Shirodachi said. "I'm not good enough a poet to understand. That's why I wasn't accepted."

"Poet?" repeated Yahiko. "Anyway, I was saying that living with Kaoru isn't exactly great. Yahiko this, Yahiko that, Yahiko… I'm always wrong" 

"Kaoru? Your mother… Strange way you call her. Mother. And yet, it displeases mine to be called 'mother' as well. She always did say she should have bought that herb from old nana, no matter what the price, instead of hearing such an insult from my filthy mouth. Said I should be with dirt where I belong. But it was so cold outside and my arms had blue spots already; why, I wouldn't be able to feel my limbs anymore And the snow--"

"Mother?" Yahiko was too out of it to comprehend the rest of what she said. "Kaoru is my master--remember her? The pregnant woman who dropped her parasol? Turned out it was hers. Forgot to tell she said thanks." 

"I see." Shirodachi nodded, still keeping her eyes on him. He was forced to continue. There was no expectation in them; the compulsion was in him.

"I fought with her again this morning--and that's aside from last night's fight. She started it. She asked me if I had visited my mom's grave. Well, I haven't. Mother's far away, and I've tended to her last new year anyhow. The question ticked me off somehow. I don't know why. Maybe because I really did want to visit mom. But well…

"Anyhow, I would have told her any other time to just buzz off, or something. I said instead, 'What? You got no one else to drag with you? Drag Kenshin.' It's always him, right?

"I thought she was going to explode. She didn't. Her face just shook for a moment, then she retorted, 'I've already done my duties.'

"I thought that was really low. I mean, Kenshin's her husband; he should go with her. 

"Then she asked instead if I'd made some make-shift altar thing at Sano's and that really ticked me off. I told her what does she care anyway? I told her to mind her business. And then she started crying. I hate it when she cries. It's not like her to cry." 

"Oh…"

Yahiko was a tad ashamed of himself. "Well… I apologized. She just nodded, but at least she stopped crying. It was a weird thing, you know? I mean, we always fight, but that…. Sheesh. I would have been better if she slapped me or whatever. Like, she didn't hit me when we fought last night either."

"My mother punishes me like that, too. Once the sleeve of my kimono got caught on a nail and tore. I was so ashamed of my arm; it was so ugly. And I cried that she let me do chores at home, or in the fields, just that she not send me to town." She said this as a matter of factly, quietly.

He was stricken, though. "She hits you like that?"

"I deserved it," was her simple reply.

"Kaoru doesn't beat me," he explained. "It's sort of like a game, I guess. I annoy the hell out of her, all hell breaks loose." Yahiko snorted. "I don't know. Maybe the busu's actually growing up."

"I deserved it," Shirodachi merely repeated. "I should be grateful she doesn't turn me out. I do hope she doesn't sell me. I do, I do."

Yahiko stared at her. "You can't sell people," he stated firmly. "It's not right."

Shirodachi gazed at him sadly. "No it isn't."

"What province are you from anyway?"

"It doesn't mater. Sometimes, one simply does not belong. It's simply that."

Yahiko thought she was right. And yes, he wished nobody would sell him either, that nobody would turn him out. 

How he wished.

~~~~~

It was the afternoon heat that awakened Kaoru. After Yahiko left after his grudging apology that morning, she had stumbled back to bed. Maybe Kenshin had tried to wake her for lunch, maybe not. Either way, she had just awakened at past three, ravenously hungry. There she was, now, sneaking in her own kitchen, stuffing her face in secrecy with her own boiled yam. Now if only the boiled yam didn't taste some much like a boiled shoe, it wouldn't be so bad.

It was stupid; He could easily find her, anyhow, had he wanted. Stalking one such as herself would impose no hardship on a man like the Battousai. Stupid also, because he surely would have a meal saved for her, something more edible, delicious, and nutritious than a week-old moldy cold tuber. But no. Under no circumstances did she want to see him, so there she was in the role of a mouse their house now lacked. Disgusting.

Actually, she and her husband had barely exchanged words after their ill parting yesterday. He was probably letting her cool off, refusing to push her. (He was still such a dear even in the middle of a fight it was irritating!) She was somehow grateful for the distance, and now she was worried he'd decide to put an end to their mutual silent treatment and seek her out. 

She didn't want to make up yet. Worse, she didn't want to be near him--or see him, even. She couldn't figure out why, just that there was a persistent aversion. Maybe she was subconsciously being thick for stubborn pride. Pathetic.

Anyhow, after she and Kenshin make up (preferably today), they'd have to decide what to do in the Bon Odori tonight. They certainly ought to go. The town would be ablaze with lights, music, gorgeous decorations, food--mayhap even a cool star-studded evening. They could bring along Yahiko. She could buy him something, treat him somewhere, give him a good time--if only to make up. She had forgotten about his duties to his own ancestors. She could have at least helped him set up an altar for his parents in his room; It's not a home, but at least the thought was there. She could have….

What's done is tone. Or in this case, what's not done. Now she had to find an appropriate yukata for tonight. Better, her father had a sturdy old one he used to wear way back when her mother was still alive. Maybe it would fit Yahiko? He had grown considerably after all, even at twelve.

Still like some household pest, she scuttled to the storage and searched for the clothing. It wasn't there, was in her room, perhaps. She headed for the bedroom in tiptoes.

_But what if Kenshin was in there?_

So what? It was his room too.

Even so, she was sweating as he peeked in through a slit on their doorway. Silly, it was, scouring a room for one's own spouse, yet the moments that passed in that looming of the unknown were tense. She sighed in relief when she sighted their unmade bed, the empty space. He wasn't there.

Carefully closing the door behind her, she sat before her trunk and began rummaging through her things. She failed to produce the summer robe and began to speculate that she had already lent it to Kenshin for some previous occasion. Ponderously, she shifted her position.

Kenshin's side was always neat, shaming her now that she sometimes felt too bulky to even bother fixing up. His modest wardrobe was tidily folded; there she found her father's yukata.

She was carefully returning his things in order when she saw it: The sakabatou, an icon, perhaps a legend unto itself for those who cared, those touched by the kindness, the enlightenment of its wielder. She took into her hands, handling it almost with reverence. This object was central to the life of the man she loved--in corollary, her's as well. Somehow, it carried his ideals and the truths he discovered, his dreams and the reality he was forced to wake up to day after day. His past. His vows. His mistakes. His triumphs. His self.

Kaoru shivered. Anticipation? Fear? Foreshadowing? She felt icy cold for one minuscule moment. Now, her hands seemed to tingle with energy. Oh, the strength he must have used to wield this blade in his countless battles!

She slid the reverse-edged out of its sheath slightly, the visible fraction of the blade gleaming unabashedly in the suffused light. It was beautiful. Pure. Bloodless. The receptacle of power of the preeminent swordsman in Japan.

Entranced, she drew the entire weapon out of the saya and held it before her. She admired the bright shiny metal, began to explore by touch. Where the cutting edge should be was blunt, of course--not deadly, but far from harmless. 

Now the opposite was the wedge. Wedge was such an ugly, lumbering, heavy word. The thin point--points--line that could sever a man from life should be called something light and lightning-fast.

Sublimely beautiful.

She ran a finger against its length and gasped. Sharp. The hand she drew away was bleeding lightly but steadily. But it was exciting, that budding red on her fingertip. Beautiful, that gush. Beautiful, that persistent, inconsequential pain.

Why? What--

Kaoru. 

Kaoru. Yes. Kaoru's essence. Kaoru's life. Kaoru's blood.

She watched Kaoru's blood shyly creep out of that tiny well on the finger. Tentatively, she slipped out the tip of her tongue and tasted it.

Strong, sharp, and metallic--like the sword. The affinity of blade and blood proved evidently true. She looked down at the reverse-edged, seeing her visage gleaming on its polished surface, a drop of her life-fluid a seeming phantom mole on her cheek. The sakabatou had never before tasted blood. Perhaps it has never been complete either.

"Kaoru."

There. That was a call. The intense living red on the bright silver of steel was tantalizingly beautiful. And it was calling her.

"Kaoru?"

The scratching of wood against wood came obtrusively in her silence. Simultaneous with the telltale sound came the solid thunk of a falling heaviness and the clatter of the empty saya.

Her eyes shied away from the sword she dropped and settled on the man gazing at her from the door way, considering. Surely his swift eyes had already swept through the scene, had taken everything in. Guilt rose to her face; she was caught in the act.

"I was--I was cleaning up when I dropped it," she fumbled. "It's a heavy thing."

Kenshin ignored her flaming cheeks, but she knew… He knew. "Aa," he merely said. 

"Did you want something in particular?" she burst out in discomfort.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Kenshin stepped inside. "I came to tell Kaoru-dono that the doctors and sessha agree unanimously that yams are not sufficient nutrition for her."

She sighed in spite of her self. "Fine."

"Leave the mess behind," he said with an appreciative nod. I'll take care of it."

Having already expressed her acquiescence, she did as she was told and made her way to her waiting meal. She didn't even look back as Kenshin sheathed his sword and returned it in it's place by their bedside.

Finished draft: 082303 1:38  
Edited: 120403 Thur 00:43:25  
Uploaded: 12/14/2003 

* * *

Notes:   
^.^ I don't have much to say except for... Um, please don't be too harsh on Kaoru. I notice people tend to judge Kaoru a tad too harshly. LOL.   
To tocole: Thank you. I hope you continue to follow the story. =)   
To watermelon: Thank you (and I hope you continue to follow the story, too ^__^ ). Clues, clues on Shirodachi and Yahiko and Kaoru and the baby.. I'm on tippy-toes organizing them. ^^; LOL. I'm glad you like the gradual buildup, and I hope I make the story smooth enough. As for the questions, like you said, I'm attempting to slowly build the answer. (wish me luck, LOL). Your feed backs really help me. Thanks again.   
*sigh* Next chapter.   
  
To all: thanks for reading. ^_^   
(Oh, and if you get impatient waiting, or whatever, feel free to read my and Shirodachi's other fics. It's just a click away! *coughAuthorsPagecough* He he. Am I shameless? LOL. Jk.) 


	9. Hachi

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively. 

_**Hachi**_

The lanterns lining the street seemed to give a festive air that bested even that of last year's celebration, even of past ones this year. The small fire in the heart of each paper creation pooled together, burning the night with their collective light. Had their makers realize the brilliance they would bring even as they formed their mundane craft?

Most people would fail to notice little details like lamps. There were other things to see, after all. The decorations, the peddlers and their wares, the wave after wave of people flowing into a loose throng. There, a little girl, after stumbling on her too-big-geta, ambled on after an indulgent squeeze from her mother--the skinned knee she forgot quickly, distracted by the sweets held out by the father. The mat weaver's son from the next street could be sighted a little farther; Kyou blushed to equal the flushed face of Meimi, the potter's daughter, demurring each profuse thank-you for some bauble received. The steady boom of distant drums, the elusive strain of music drowned out by the clapping and chattering…. None of them was lost to the young girl that stood before the open door ways of the Akabeko. She took in everything, absorbing all details to store away among the precious memories of youth.

On a pair of tabi-less feet, a cute set of toes wiggled experimentally. Tsubame giggled; Like a child, she indulged in another round of play with her--well, toes. Her embarrassment having been replaced by amusement, she allowed her eyes to settle back on the richly arrayed and peopled street. Somehow, she felt that the scene between Kyou-san and Meimi-chan was too private for her to see. She had evaded her eyes after a brief glance, and they were gone now. She could see their backs, their heads bobbing with the rest as they moved to the place of gathering.

Those people were latecomers, Tsubame mused, noting the snappy movements of most that spoke of haste. In fact, she realized that Yahiko-chan himself was late. Surely she remembered the details pertaining to their rendezvous clearly: at seven tonight, under the tree. Well, there was only one _tree_. It's where they inevitably meet when they do. Tae-san usually meets with Kaoru-san there for a day-out. Megumi-san meets them there too for a dinner date in any of her visits. Whatever other tree could he have meant?Tsubame shook her head to dispel such worries. She shouldn't get so anxious, as her mother gently stressed upon her often. The young girl sighed, curling a stray strand of hair on a finger as she thought. For all she knew, Yahiko could be stopping by the Akabeko now, taking leave of his mistress and her husband, who were probably there with Genzai-sensei, Ayame, and Suzume. He could be having trouble leaving for fear of being impolite. It _was_ possible, Yahiko or not.

The strand was in her mouth now, she realized. Tsubame stopped chewing on her hair and pulled it out in slight irritation. Tae-san was kind enough to toil over her hair; she shouldn't be nibbling and splitting its ends just because she was irrationally being haunted by stupid thoughts.

Tsubame adored Kaoru, that's for sure, but she wouldn't be surprised at all if the shihondai were the ultimate cause of Yahiko's hold up. Kaoru-san was pretty demanding, but she could be reasonable, too, even towards her undeclared favorite student. She was sweet and generous, too. In fact, it was her and Kenshin's gift, the pale yellow and lilac flower-print yukata, Tsubame was wearing now. Surely Kaoru-san had a reason to hold Yahiko-kun back. Surely Yahiko-kun had reason to be late.

Yes. Patience was all she needed.

Patience.

~~~~

Patience…

"Yahiko!"

Patience, Yahiko told himself again firmly as he turned around to heed the call. Automatically, he caught the object that came hurtling towards him. For a moment, he stood there, stupidly staring at the lantern he was clutching. He laughed nervously, called out a hearty, heartfelt thank-you to Kenshin, and sprinted out of there.

Yahiko didn't even think as he pelted on the leaf-carpeted forest floor. Too vexed with himself for being tardy, he concentrated on getting himself out of the dim place as fast as he could. 

What would Tsubame think! It was already seven when he stumbled out of the dojo. Good thing Kenshin was sensible enough to toss him some lights--otherwise he'd be enjoying trips and falls courtesy of occasional protruding roots. Now if only, Kenshin had been as helpful on the fashion side.

Actually, Kenshin's been a brick. He was patient all through out their bonding session (so to speak). He answered Yahiko's questions the best he could, guided him through the normally-simple-but-now-puzzling rituals for good hygiene. For a yukata, Yahiko had thrown on a forest green affair of abstract shapes, Kaoru's gift for him on his 12th birthday--a size too big at the time. He knew it would look great with the yellow one Kaoru gave to Tsubame, something she might just wear tonight. Kenshin had said he looked fine. Kaoru hadn't been there for comments, and Yahiko hadn't had (and didn't have) time to wait for her derisive chuckles.

The problem had started before all that. The sun had been already low in horizon when Yahiko woke up from the nap he took coming from Shirodachi's house. It had been Kaoru who solicitously roused him, and it had also been her who protested raucously when he considered skipping a hot bath. She had evaporated out of sight as soon as Kenshin opened the doors to a steaming bath and had left the two men (ahem) to their own devices.

"So what to do we do in the dance?" Yahiko had asked.

"Haven't you been on one?" Kenshin had answered from outside.

"I mean--really?"

"Just be respectful and attentive to your companion."

"You trying to tell me to go 'dono' and 'de gozaru'?" Yahiko yelped. "But I don't go for that polite shit!"

"I said 'respectful,' Yahiko-kun."

"Oh."

After a while, Yahiko said, "This is a date, isn't it, Kenshin?"

"That's really for you to know," Kenshin had said; Yahiko knew he had been smiling just by the tone of his voice.

"I think so," Yahiko had muttered, all red.

"In that case, I think so, too."

"Aren't you and Kaoru going out on one too?"

"Yahiko, at the rate you're going, you're going to get late."

And that was that.

So now, Yahiko was trying to pace himself as he briskly walked through the shortcut. It would be stupid to run; he'd be wasting that long soak in the tub. He knew he was going too slow, but he kept his pace.

Soon, he noted dim lamplight coming from in front of him--Shirodachi's hut. He couldn't see it yet, so he knew he was barely halfway, and he harrumphed inwardly for failing to prepare much earlier. Within a few more feet, Shirodachi's house became visible.

Shirodachi. He had forgotten about her. Since she appeared to be home, she obviously had no one to go to the festival with. _Weird_, thought Yahiko. _I thought she was visiting for a relative._

But of course. She never mentioned whether the family was living or not. And he never stopped to ask.

How stupid of him! People--especially those as young as her--usually have family members accompanying them when visiting their dead. _Unless they're _all_in the ground_.

Yahiko shuddered. No wonder Shirodachi seemed so lonely, seemed so happy to have someone to talk to. So she was all alone in the world… and he never knew.

He had been alone in the world once. But then, Kaoru and Kenshin came. Kaoru had been alone, too, before Kenshin came. So had been Sanosuke. And Megumi… And Tsubame…

Amazing thing it was, that they managed to drift together somehow. For a short while, they had been a family. Children tend to grow up, though, and leave the nest. Off flew Sanosuke and Megumi to different directions. Kenshin and Kaoru started down a new road hand in hand. Things would never be the same again, but there would always remain an attachment, a bond among them.

Shirodachi had no such thing.

Yahiko was late with his tryst with Tsubame, but she'd be there when he arrives breathless and apologetic. They would enjoy a night out, while Shirodachi was alone in her home, starkly silent against the music and laughter resounding from within and without the town's thoroughfare. 

He went straight for the door ajar. He'd be even more tardy now that he was on his way to pick up the third member of their party. Tsubame would understand, of course. Tsubame was kind-hearted and generous. 

She'd understand.

~~~

Where there is light, there is shadow. 

Shishio Makoto always said that all things in existent are, because they have managed to survive as the fittest, that this world is based on competition, that a life of one must be exchanged for another. Same's true for light. For an object to be touched by radiance, another behind it might be deprived.

So it was, in that night of dance and cheer. Swathed by shadows, a man walked about. By the way sweat rolled down his wrinkled brows, he seemed nervous. His apparel, as well as visage, was neither gay nor light, though he came from the direction of the Akabeko and other such establishments. Furthermore, his wiry body seemed tense, seemed too close to springing into action. A waiting man.

Or a hunted one.

_Nonsense_, a sternly rational thought cut through his dark musings. _She had never acknowledged your presence, never even showed herself to you willingly_. 

She wasn't after him, that was for sure. But she was after _her_. He knew who she was after. He had seen her in the woods. He had seen both of them in the woods.

He tried to call to her, tried to plead with her to speak to him--to no avail. As her strength gathered, the danger involved rose as well. And he could feel it, he could feel the teeming power in the very atmosphere.

There was only one way to stop her.

The fire that called her to sentience was lit seven days ago. But it was too late now to solve her mystery. She must be banished before she reaches her height of power. Obon must be the key. Obon must be the pinnacle of her might. And now that the fire had been lit, it must all end. Her spirit had been set off already. She was gone.

She would return thereafter. Then, again. And again. 

He was eager to be out of there.

But first must make sure! He must verify. He must...

Without warning, he stumbled. The offending object went down with him, and as he tried to erect himself, he groped for it. What he pulled up was a person. He looked to apologize, saw a pair of brown eyes reflecting the lights of scattered lamps, and his heart leapt to his throat.

He almost fainted with relief when he realized his own fear was mirrored in those eyes. He saw now that it was a child he had bumped into; their simultaneous sighs of relief would have been hilarious--if only his own terror hadn't been so unspeakable.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," she said meekly, ducking from the waist. "I didn't mean--"

"It was dark, child," his gruff voice answered. "Neither of us could have possibly foreseen that. Unless of course you are some sort of kami, perhaps?"

"Um... no, I'm not." She bit her lips.

She was pretty on that yellow yukata, he noticed. She'd be even more adorable with flowers decking her bobbed brown hair.

He reached out to giver her a single white lily, an excess from the bunch he used for the night's ceremony.

"Take it," he said. "Put it on your hair, and your kareshi might give you an extra bauble in addition to that trinket he must be rushing to buy at this very moment."

Her blush told him he hit the spot. "Thank you, sir," she said, now in a stronger voice.

"Get out of the shadows, child," he said as he walked off.

_Yes. Be patient. Stay in the light._

~~~

An excerpt from Takani Megumi's letter to Himura Kenshin:

.... So even if I won't be able to visit this summer, we'll see what happens after the epidemic dies down. I can't really promise anything; you know how it is.

Now what's this I'm getting from Kaoru-san's letters? Honestly. You two are miles away, and you still manage to trigger my migraine everytime.

I understand why you're very protective of her (I do, really). It's your natural paternal instincts--compounded by your life experiences. I suppose you can't really help it. But you know better than I that the tanuki's a free spirit. 

Okay, fine. The word's "stubborn".

You know she doesn't like being cooped up. You know she feels smothered right now. And you know she needs the extra attention--and I agree with you. The approach simply has to be modified.

Right now, her body is providing for two people. Her resources are all focused on the new life growing inside her. It wears her out, and the frequent stress brought about by extreme emotions drain even more of her strength. Now that child, barely fully formed, is very vulnerable right now, and the only protection it has is her body. If she weakens, if her body (or spirit, or mind) breaks down, your baby would be naked to all the dangers of the environment.

Explain to her all this, Ken-san. You're not just merely coddling her. You're caring for your unborn child by caring for her. It simply takes extra for two. It shouldn't be some burden the mother must struggle with alone. (Well, technically...)

Now, I know you might not think I'm qualified to give marital counseling (ahem). But I've birthed scores of mothers, seen families go through this process. Trust me on this. She'll understand that explanation. She's a mother; it's her who feels the miracle of continued life most palpably. 

You already know this things, I know. It's just that... Don't be afraid to pull a little of your psychology on her! If you can do it on your enemies, you certainly can with your wife, whom you know like the back of your hand. Don't look at it as some betrayal of sorts. It's for her own good anyway. So with all that aside...

About that vegetable you've been asking about. I found it on a local herbal shop. I don't advice feeding Kaoru-san some. It contains certain toxins I'd rather not expose her to right now. Plus, it induces bloating. I mean--really! Spare her the added trouble.

Kenshin knew Megumi's advice was meant in kind. Sometimes, though, he couldn't help but think that the doctor had too little regard for Kaoru's maturity. On the other hand, Megumi was a professional; objective, concise, and logical. She was simply sharing knowledge based on experience and observation. It was not a matter of maturity.

He certainly had plans of heeding her advice, but Kaoru still worried him. Something... _something_ just didn't feel right. It was inexplicable, gut-based--virtually baseless. She was still quiet today, speaking to him no more than necessary. Though she sought him out to give her father's yukata for Yahiko to wear, he knew she'd been avoiding him all day. Maybe it was because their fight yesterday was yet to be resolved. Now would be a good time to apologize, agree on a settlement, and try out Megumi's suggestions.

He found her sitting on the porch, naturally, as tranquil as the deepening evening, far from the boisterous celebration downtown. Her silence was peculiar in such a way that it seemed to cloak her in some jealous privacy. That reticence descended upon her after Yahiko arrived from his walk.

A taciturn Kaoru could be two things: one, she could be feeling genuinely ill; two, she could be sulking about something. Neither appealed to Kenshin at all. It would be simpler if he asked her, confronted her directly rather than kept on guessing. If it were sickness, she'd suffer longer without medical attention. If it were hurt of the heart, unvoiced grievances would exacerbate misunderstandings into worse conflicts. 

Balancing the tea tray on one hand, he approached her carefully.

"May I join you?" he asked quietly. He set the tray down when she nodded.

"Gorgeous evening, isn't it?" he opened after a while. 

Kaoru grunted a non-commital response. Kenshin picked up the paper fan beside her and started fanning them both.

"It's a little too warm though. Too bad about your wasted bath."

She waved away the fanning-offer but merely shrugged at his comment.

"I wonder if Yahiko made it in time... You didn't see him, huh? Well, we found out your father's yukata is still a little too big for him. He wore the green one instead, the one we gave him last year."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Speaking of yukata, yours--the one that was in the wash--is now ready. Do you want me to get it for you?"

"I'm cold."

"You are? Hmmm... I iced your tea, actually, because I thought you were feeling warm a while ago."

"I'm cold now."

"Never mind. I have a hot pot simmering in the kitchen."

"I'm not thirsty."

Silence.

Finally, Kenshin resolved to ask. "Kaoru, please don't take my question in a bad light, but are you okay? You're cold and quiet and... Is there something wrong?"

"No, Kenshin," she answered, facing him abruptly. "Nothing's wrong. But am I okay? No, I'm not okay. Am I cold? I'm not, period." Her stoic face broke into a glare. "All I want is to sit here in the porch now and watch the evening settle in. Is that a bad thing?"

"No, it isn't." Kenshin exhaled audibly. Look, I seem to be bothering you. Do you want me to leave?"

"Leave?" Kaoru was incredulous. "Bothering you? Hey, I'm not the one who has any problem with anybody--"

"Kaoru--"

"If you want to leave, fine. I'm sorry you didn't go to the dance because _I_ didn't feel like it. I'm certainly not stopping you! You should have gone with Yahiko in the first place."

Kenshin sighed. "I see. I _am_ bothering you. I'll be in the dojo if you need me."

She turned back to the backyard in a huff.

"And no. Whatever you're thinking, I'm not hinting anything. I was simply trying to get a conversation going. You don't want one, I respect that. Help, attention; I'm afraid, you'll have to endure them. I'm going to continue helping you and our baby. And, oh, you're also going to have to drink something."

"Oh, so you're monitoring that, too, huh?" she snapped, but he was already on his way indoors. 

"Here." He came back after a while. "I brought you a warm cup of tea. You have to replace the fluids you lost today."

"I am not thirsty!" she answered peevishly. "Drink it yourself."

"Kaoru, will you please..." Kenshin was for once exasperated.

"And now you're deciding what I'm feeling?" she demanded, glaring in indignation. "When I'm hungry? When I'm thirsty? You have a lot of nerve!"

His face was expressionless. "Drink your tea," he said quietly.

She ignored him pointedly. For a while, she sat and he stood, both in silence. Finally, Kenshin approached her, cup in hand.

"Please? It's not as if it's going to hurt you."

"Drink it?" she intoned. Her voice had changed, dulled. "You cannot do that to your own child--unborn or not! It isn't just blood that would flow out of you. Life!"

Kenshin blinked, polaxed. "What? Kaoru... What are you talking about?"

"Is this the life I have to live as well?" Her voice was a mere whisper now, and her eyes were lowered, hidden from view by the fall of her hair.

"What do you mean?" He was mildly alarmed by now; he touched her shoulder to feel her more than anything else. "Kaoru, really, I didn't say anything like--"

"Say anything like what?"

Blue eyes were peering up at him expectantly; mild surprise was apparent in their diamond depths. Apparently, his touch roused her.

_From where? Roused her from what?_

"But--"

She frowned at him. "You're acting weird today," she said and took the cup from him.

"Me? I--"

"I'm sorry, this is yours," she suddenly said, craddling the warm tea back in his slack, outstretched hand. 

"Mine?" 

"I know, Kenshin," she said patiently. "I'm sorry I grabbed it from you." Her forehead furrowed. Isn't it a little too hot for that?"

"It is," he answered in a slightly injured tone.

Kaoru merely rolled her eyes and shook her head. He watched her in bemusement as she drank her iced tea in one long draft.

"Ahh...." she sighed appreciatively, leaning the empty glass against her cheek. "That was very nice of you. Thank you, Ken-chan."

"Sessha wa weird de gozaru," he murmured plaintively.

"Yup, yup," she agreed blithely. "Now what are you doing there, standing like a post? My back hurts a little, and, if you don't mind, you seem to be the most accessible pillow presently."

He sighed in resignation--"Yes, beloved"-- and cuddled her as was peremptorily hinted.

Finished draft: Sept 10, 2003 10:55

Edited: February 28, 2004 (12:15am)

Uploaded: 

~~~ 

ANs  
To britney: thanks for the number translations in Japanese. ^_^ I sorta got too lazy to look them up somewhere along the way. ^^;;   
To watermelon: thanks for reading "The Emperor's..." ^^;; I really was kidding. LOL. No, Kenshin isn't going to Kyoto. Things are confusing, huh? This really would work out better if I write/upload faster. Hehe.   
To midnightcrow: that shamelessness was just a joke, dear. ^^;;   
To tocole and everybody: Thanks for reading! Been busy for a while, so... I wasn't able to edit this chapter. -_-; I continue writing this fic though. Even if I'm not updating. ^_^ Next chapter might be available after my spring break. *sigh* Till then.

===== 

EDIT: Thanks to Misha for informing me about the missing quotation marks. Fixed it. 030304 


	10. Kyu

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki, with the manga and anime rights belonging to Jump Comics and Sony Entertainment, respectively.

_**White Friend **_  
_ Melpomene & Shirodachi_

_**Kyu**_

There exists a moment in every day, night, or in-between, when the sun is totally out of the sky--not merely covered by clouds--where the world is a limbo-like grayness, half-visible, half-unseen in the remaining light. Twilight had always been sort of mystical for Yahiko. Even that crap about some doorway to the world of the dead opening at dusk (or was that dawn?) sounded pretty cool.

His appreciation of the sunset and its aftermath was probably influenced by the Himura's daily habits. It started years ago, soon after Enishi invaded and disappeared, after everybody went away. Every afternoon, Kenshin would pause from his chores, watch the sunset, and become thoughtful, sometimes pensive. Always, Kaoru would be there somewhere to touch him in some way: a tentative hand on an arm, a light tug on a red lock. In fact... In fact, once or twice Yahiko may have walked in on the couple while something important was going on. One particular memory involved a giddy Kaoru, a serenely happy Kenshin, and--what made it especially memorable--an embarrassed Yahiko who had ran away from the dojo like nuts. Nowadays, it was a regular aesthetic thing. (The sunset-watching, that is).

The dusk today, however, Yahiko was missing. The trees darkened the woods, blotted out the skies. And he was at Shirodachi's anyhow. It didn't matter.

Yahiko didn't forget to knock this time, but when he peeked inside after receiving no reply, Shirodachi wasn't there. Undaunted, he stepped into the room, kicking his sandals behind him. Something beyond the solitary partition made the paper glow a warm yellow, and toward that he went. He tread over the tatami noiselessly and knocked on the nearer wall of the hut.

"I am surprised to see you this evening," came the instant reply.

Shirodachi was sitted before a low desk, but whatever she said, she certainly didn't look surprised to Yahiko. In that semi-darkness, with the lamp focused on her work, she looked downright bleached. Her pallor was kept from ghastliness by her long hair, a mass of jet black twisted into a complicated coiffure. The brown of her eyes were rendered pitch-black, as were her lips--lipstick?

"You are going somewhere special tonight? I perceive a change in your manner of dressing."

Indeed. And he could perceive a change in her manner itself. Somehow, she seemed more mature, graver... sadder. Yahiko approached her cautiously.

"Yeah," he said. "Actually, I was on my way to the Bon Odori at the town square. Er... I was wondering if you'd like to come."

She made an indecisive sound, apparently, thinking on the matter.

"Come on. The dance'll be fun. There'll be food, lights, music, and, uh, dancing." Yes, the lameness surely made it sound all fun and laughter, he thought miserably. "And... and... Tsubame will be there, too. Didn't you want to meet her?"

Shirodachi smiled mysteriously, though a tad sadly. "True, but I don't feel like going out, Yahiko-kun. Besides, I don't believe I've brought appropriate apparel for such celebratory affairs."

Now, Yahiko knew nothing about affairs and what's appropriate, but he thought her dress right now was pretty. It was the same kimono she was wearing that morning. In the darkness though, the red had bled into black and the yellow paled to white, so her dress did nothing to add to her color. She was still stunning, though, somewhat... unreachable. It was all darkly elegant, and she exuded an air of casual formality. Which was downright weird if you think about it, he thought in bemusement.

"All the same," Shirodachi said. "You're invitation is a great honor. I regret to decline, truly, but I have not planned for a social event my whole visit here. I would rather spend time in my home in private."

"Oh, I see." Somehow, Yahiko felt disappointed. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, but you are certainly very welcome to stay. Your presence by no means breaches my personal space. In fact, I insist. Please, sit. Anywhere! I apologize for the disorganization."

"This is where you sleep?" The question was merely for verification; he had already sighted the futon neatly folded on one darkened corner.

She smiled in amusement at his stricken expression. "It bothers you?" she said, a first, he thought, glimmer of humor from her since they met.

"Er... no," Yahiko replied defensively. As if to prove his point, he squated down next to her and peered at her work. "Calligraphy?"

"Yes."

"I kinda never got the hang it."

"Oh, but surely you know of even the most rudimentary of skills?"

"Well, yeah. Kaoru taught me."

"Good! Then, I shall write my name. And then you write yours."

Carefully, she dipped her brush, pressed off excess ink, and began making delicate, almost wavering strokes.

Shirodachi.

What he saw made his heart jump to his throat. And it stuck there, his heart, seemingly motionless. His breathing arrested. His neck stiffened. Coldness, black ice, slithered up his spine. Later, he often wondered how it would have been if he remained in such a state forever. Would his entire body just freeze over? Would he be sitting there in stasis, feeling, perceiving but unmoving, watching until the very worms crawl out of the earth to devour his remains? But as it was, he would never know. His muscles shook away that iciness, and he melted, melted enough to swallow his heart back in place.

_Beat_.

Shirodachi was looking at him. Yes, her eyes... Those were the things that glinted back lamplight in that darkness, glowing marbles that floated in mid-air, half substantial, half not. Little comfort.

_Beat_!

Whoosh. Breath rushed out of his nostrils like fickle children. He sucked in air to replace that loss. Quickly. Sharply. A gasp.

"Yahiko-kun."

The spectre had spoken.

"Is something the matter?"

Shirodachi.

He shivered again.

_It's just Shirodachi, dammit_!

"N-no!" he chirped in protest. "I'm perfect. Why?"

"You gasped, sir."

Yahiko remained silent for a while. Finally, he spoke: "Why do you write 'shi' with the character of 'death'?"

It was a long time before anybody spoke. Shirodachi didn't reply to his question. He figured it was a stylistic choice she had a right to make. After all, many of her stories seem to pulse with hidden pain, unspeakable suffering. He didn't really know her after all. What she had been through... What she had seen, felt, done... He wanted to know, truly. But there was a barrier there. There. And he was afraid to go beyond that... Why should he? Her past was none of his business. In fact, she should be offended by his prying remarks!

He felt shameful, really. First of all, he freaked out just because of a kanji character he didn't expect to see. (And... okay, fine, he'd admit it. Lamplight plus shack in the woods _did_ make an uncanny combination.) Second, his big mouth was at it again. He started to gather strength to apologize, but couldn't quite reach the threshold of courage.

But then, she spoke. "I would like to tell you story, Yahiko-kun. It's what many would call a tragedy. I ask that you listen all the same, for the world is not as kind and wonderful as we all hope it is... "

And so the lamp burned its ration of oil and a tale was spun from the oblivion of memories.

Once, there was a maid of slight height and fragile wrists. She had seen far less than a score of winters, yet her eyes bear the coldness of a thousand. In their dark depths, you see the world in all its agelessness---the eyes of the gods, even in their sagacious overseeing of foolish mortals, seem to peer through as with divine windows.

Thus, the people grew to fear her probing, mysterious eyes and the white, white of her translucent skin. Thus the people turned against her in distrust, suspicion, and jealousy. Thus, she came to be found so far from the pastoral serenity of her origins. And thus, she came to be under the tutelage of a great courtesan.

When first she came, the lady that ruled the establishment had high hopes for her. "Perhaps, this child's song shall carry across this city–nay, this realm," she said. "Perhaps her wit shall pique the most knowledgeable of scholars, her graceful movements entrance the most demanding nobles."

But the girl's eyes still bothered all. She grew from child to maid under the eyes of the mama-san, but rarely did her lips open for conversation, never did her throat give forth music, seldom did her body sway in dance.

"Perhaps, she could still spread fire over loins of the most stoic gentlemen," declared the mama-san. "There are those whose tastes involve little dalliance or cat-and-mouse games."

Alas, the maid walked as if with an orb of ice around her. An apprentice, she remained, even as her esteemed contemporaries rose to prominence. Nonetheless, the young girl did strive hard, listening and absorbing everything taught. The mama-san was satisfied with her, if only as a servant girl, one of the courtesan's maids.

The maiden knew neither joy nor sadness, but she was satisfied with her station in life. Inevitably, however, came the day when she learned the true implications of living the niche fate dropped her in. Her faithful friend, the same lady she attended, became sick in her stomach, and that, which came every moon, ceased to flow. It was the fruit of the secret things they did behind those doors. A mistake, wept her friend Ayame, that nothing could be done about. The mama-san's fury was great and fearsome, for the courtesan was slow to undo that error. The maid sought to protect her mistress from the mama-san's wrath. The mama-san became wrought with the maid, but desisted from banishing the one with child. She who-was-spared still wept day and night, and her dear friend knew not what was to be done.

The maiden's young heart went out to the unborn being, for she knew how it was to be so unwanted. Thus, she spake unto her bosom friend and begged love for the little one. To no avail were her tears and supplications; the desperate woman was too moved by her own predicament to care. Generous libations, Ayame dosed herself: cordials, serums, incantations, anything to make the blood flow again.

Once the maiden came upon her stuporous friend on the verge of drinking a vile potion. Gently but firmly, the faithful one confiscated the simmering brew.

"I should be wrought with you," uttered the melancholy one. "Should you refuse to relinquish that which is not yours."

"Pray, to what purpose shall this poison serve?"

"It is no poison. I shall drink it. Return it now!"

"Drink it?" the maid snapped. "Do you not know the effects of this on your child? It is not blood that will flow out of you. Life!"

She became despondent and downcast, at that moment withdrawing into a world all her own.

"Is this the life I have to live as well?" she whispered.

The maiden's companion felt pangs of remorse, as she beheld her friend's grief. Ayame repented and chose to keep her infant. Joyous was the maid in learning of this decision and in her contentment, swore to care for her mistress's child from the moment of birth and evermore.

Yet time flowed in its inexorable, ever-forward journey. The magnificent empire wherein the fair maiden resided fermented with its eons-old intrigues and troubles. The city pulsed with anger, anguish, sorrow, and hate till the very earth threatened to burst. And whispers flew from mouth to ear, to mouth to ear, and round, and around...

Fleeting words were all she heard, she whose tale we tell. Little heed did she pay to these querulous notions. Though it was such, place and time conspired to enfold her into proximity of those deeply embedded in these disturbances and into the convolutions of Fate's machinations.

An evening came when the maiden's new mistress, Rika, was called upon by the mama-san to attend to a certain gentleman, a lord. The lady was punctual to heed the ultimate mistress's hails, and came with her maid. They came into one of the guestrooms, where the mama-san and a man sat. The maiden could see very little of this man, for she dared not give offense with her ogling.

His sandals were off, left outside or else taken care of by some servant, feet tucked underneath his thighs and blanketed by the excess folds of his gray hakama. A cup of tea sat cradled on one hand. It was a beautiful hand; wiry muscles steadied that grip, and veins stood out like rivulets among plains and crests. Now, up that hand was an arm-guard. A warrior? Indeed the customary pair of blades carried by the samurai lay by his side, readily accessible in face of wicked antagonism.

Has such as person as this one hurt Ayame-chan?

Curiosity overcame discreetness.

The maiden took her eyes from the floor to peer discreetly at this man-----who was no man after all! He was... a child. Surely, such a young face was no warrior. Surely, he would not require such services from the lady. But the mama-san was solicitous to this man-child.

The man-child greeted the courtesan presented to him and paid no more attention to her after. The maiden was flummoxed, for usually the proprietress and customer settled deals before she and her mistress were summoned. Miss Rika was popular among visitors, too, and was quite frequently indisposed. A few taels of brilliant gold could sometimes cure her of whatever ailments she was stricken at the moment. That day, however, it seemed the mama-san was offering her prized possession to this young warrior voluntarily.

"I would only require a room for the night," spoke the boy. His voice was young, naturally, was fresh and hopeful.

"Oh, but surely, sir. Rika and her gentle hands, her rounded arms... Or perhaps more of our other ladies you wish to see?"

"No, thank you."

"Very well, then," said the mama-san, still all-smiles despite loss of more profit. "I shall send for your bath, sir. We are always at your service." She motioned for Rika and the maid. Both rose and left the room. As the young girl readied to shut the door to enclose the child within, a strong hand stopped the door.

"Child, you leave your mistress to walk bereft of her shawl this chilly eve."

A bolt of indigo silk fluttered before the maiden's face.

Though surprised by the man-child calling _her_ "child," she demurred and uttered her thanks. She took the article and bowed low, as proper.

"You, girl, shall look at me when you speak to me. I am not so tall as all you peasants should break your necks should you set your eyes upon my visage. Surely, I am not so terrifying."

Sure enough, he was not. This the maiden discovered as she coldly answered his challenge. Her dark, wise, and secretive eyes came to probe his face with her intent sharpness, but were met, instead, with determined brown orbs. The tilt of his eyes was tasteful and aristocratic, and his face was handsome, on the brink of pretty. As it was, his gorgeous lips were drawn up into a stern line, betraying no emotion whatsoever. His stance was confident, calm. His dress was unremarkable, but neat. The swords he held on his other hand seemed perfectly in place, a permanent adjunct to his self.

This was no child.

The maiden shunned his eyes then, for they were so much like hers-----taunting, lurking with seeming secrets, teeming with hidden knowledge. And she stepped onto the threshold and started her way.

"Lady, I have changed my mind."

The proprietress was being called back. She hastened towards the caller and passed by the maid with admonishments for her being too slow.

"Yes, sir?" said the mama-san. "What service may we render you?"

"That young woman. I shall have her as my maid this eve."

The one he spoke off stopped in her tracks. "But, sir, that child is--"

"I shall pay the same sum for her as I would for any of thy other women."

The mama-san hesitated. "Oh, but she is inexperienced in these matters."

"She has taken care of her mistress well. Rika-dono certainly glows with this young lady's ministrations. With me, she shall have no coiffure to comb, no obi to untangle."

"Very well."

"She is the only servant I wish to see."

"Yes, yes. It will be as you wish."

"Remember; she is mine. Give her no other duties."

And those words echoed in the young girl's mind, smarting and painfully new.

That night found both boy and girl in an uncomfortable position. The young maid waited aside expectantly after she showed the young man to the baths. But as she stood there to await his bidding, the man-child merely did the same, looking at her with equal expectation.

After a stymied moment, the boy spoke. "Is there anything else you need to attend to, child?"

The maiden straightened her neck to look at him full in the eye. "My mistress decides what she wishes me attend to first, master. Shall this humble one begin to undress you?"

Laughter threatened to erupt from the maiden's lips, then, for the man-child's cheeks flushed an interesting shade of rose. He coughed and regained composure.

"I believe I would be able to manage that by myself," he said lightly. "Stay outside, if it's not much trouble."

"Very well, my lord," answered she. "His lordship must remember to call in loud tones, for the walls might muffle his voice to impo---."

"Remain here then," he interrupted hastily. "Lest your mistress scold you on my account."

Thus, he began to strip his clothing and slowly revealed a well-sculpted body that showed quiet strength. To the planes of flesh and skin were the maiden's eyes drawn unconsciously. Within her, new feelings came to surface, and she was troubled and shamed.

"I shall look afar to appease your modesty," she said shortly, when she noticed the young man standing about still in his pants.

"If it pleases yours," came the faint reply.

The splash of water told her that he was in the tub, so she proceeded with her duties in silence.

The lack of conversation was a cloud that shrouded master and maid, even after that rejuvenating bath. Even as the maiden laid out supper for the young lord, they exchanged scant words.

"Your meal awaits, my lord," said she. "It won't do to let the cold devour your victuals before do you."

The young man sat before the table. "You shall eat with me," he ordered. The girl did as she was told.

More moments of silence slipped by. Then, without warning, the man-child spoke, "You are to call me Himeki."

The maiden paused briefly to train her eyes on his as she answered. "If it pleases your Lordship." She bowed as proper.

"I am no lord. Will never be. You shall desist from addressing me so."

"I will do as you ask, sir."

"Himeki."

"If you must insist."

"I do, lady."

"Himeki-san."

"There." For the first time since they've met, the young man smiled. The maiden couldn't help but stare—it suited him so. "Perhaps now we would best a conference of statues in the liveliness of our exciting social engagement."

The sarcastic edge was not lost on the young girl. She bowed low and uttered the most heartfelt apologies.

"As my mistress said, sir," she stammered. "I am but a maid. I possess not skill to charm nor talent to entertain. Alas, I can do nothing to alleviate your boredom."

"This is what you say, eh?" said he. "I should have expected so. Naturally my overtures for sake of goodwill and friendship would fall as if on fallow fields."

The maid had nothing to say.

"You know, you are cold. Even as you have entered this chamber, I felt the death of winter stroke my very breast. Very well. To me, you shall answer solely to the name 'Yukijirou."

"Yukijirou," she repeated. "Then Himeki is not your real name."

"True. That is all you shall know."

Morning light came and kissed the nose of one pale-faced young woman. With the quiet energy of the newborn sun, she went about her usual chores, sweeping the empty halls, the deserted front of the inn. Most of its inhabitants were still sleeping, had only began their tread to the realm of dreams. In this flitting world of escapism, night and day were turned around—no doubt the as seal of some enchantment, the concealment of the temporal and the painful.

"Child, what are you about at this hour?" asked the mama-san. "Have you forgotten your duties? Hie and to your master you go!"

The maid bowed low in apology. "Mistress," she said. "He whom I serve departed from your esteemed roof three hours before midnight fell. I have yet to set eyes on his lordship this comely day."

The mama-san was stern. "You have confessed your trepidation towards such conquests—do not think I have forgotten! You have tasks to fulfill. The time has come for you to fulfill your role in my house. Do not permit him to leave again. It's a disgrace that a man should leave one of mine to seek some other pleasure. Earn your bread!"

"Yes, mistress. Though..."

"Speak your mind."

"I do not know what to do."

Her laughter was short and barking. "No serious hindrance. He would, child. Indeed, what man knows not?"

And so that night, the man-child returned. Again, he bid her call him, "Himeki," but he allowed her to help him bathe without comment. His meal he shared with her once more, but little words did they exchange. When all was done, the man-child prepared to retire.

"Goodnight," he said cordially and promptly turned away.

Yet the maiden stayed.

"Well?" The warrior was surprised. "You still abide? Perhaps, you have neglected some chore?"

"This is the second night, sir."

Silence. He had taken her meaning as the mama-san said he would.

"You are but a child," he said finally.

"I am no child, Himeki-san."

His eyes knew she spoke the truth, and he asked no proof from her. Testimony she still gave, with no words but simple action. She removed her robes to let her body speak for itself.

"A specter then," he whispered, breathless.

He came to her and took hold of her wrists. A solitary finger came to graze at her translucent palm, ran down from her pulse to a finger tip. With his thumb, he rubbed the blue-green veins that stood out on her paper-white joint.

"This is no phantom's flesh," he said. "Yukijirou."

That eve transformed two people. The next morn brought a man who had been a boy and a woman who had been a girl. And when the woman awoke that morning, the man was nowhere to be found.

Yukijirou, as we should call her now, cleaned the room, changed the sheets, made everything ready for the next clients. Seeing as there was nothing she could add to her work in there, she took time for herself to wash and then visit her friend and former mistress, the child-bearing Ayame. She then presented herself to Rika-san.

As she did her chores, the white one was summoned by the mama-san. The proprietress was brisk, but the lines on her face spoke of her pleasure.

"Child, you have yourself a contract," she said. "Make sure you are seen with no other man but _him_. We have to take precautions for such a dangerous client..."

"W-wha?" Yukijirou asked.

"Oh, don't be stupid, child," snapped the mama-san impatiently. "When the gentleman calls, go to him. You shall fulfill your other chores as usual. Rika shall cease the teaching of our ways to you. It seems his lordship desires you for your ignorance."

"Y-yes."

"And another thing. If he wants to call you 'Yukijirou,' you shall be Yukijirou. Refer to him as he wishes. Furthermore, his lordships prefers that those proceeding be unknown to the rest of the world. I trust you shall be discreet."

And so she was. Unbeknownst to many if the household, the white one, she of the witch-eyes, was now Yukijirou, the courtesan, bound to a mysterious warrior with youth and vision beyond his years warring in his eyes. Still, contract or none, many days passed with no further event of note. Yukijirou continued to be apprentice to Rika-dono and to regularly visit her bosom friend, Ayame-dono.

A fortnight later, the maiden Yukijirou was roused violently from sleep.

"Hold your questions, child," whispered the voice in her ear. "Keep mum and make haste."

The maiden Yukijirou did as she was told, rising swiftly to her feet. In the dark, the figure groped for some raiment to clothe over her sleeping wear. She was whisked away as soon as the ties of the robe clasped into a loose knot, passing through dark corridors. Into a room she was lead, a plain room that appeared to be holding supplies and such.

The mama-san fell into all fours in the dark, seemingly in search of something. Yukijirou's eyes had yet to adjust to the lighting and could follow few of her movements. She wondered if some lamp would aid her mistress's chore, but obedience stilled her tongue. Tatami mats scratched one another, and the sound of the soft thud as they fell aside further puzzled the maid. Incuriously, she waited till the proprietress chose to include her in her workings.

A thin line of light appeared then, and this expanded into an opening the width of a large woman's hips on all sides. Soft lamplight from below glazed the mama-sans face with the slightest of yellow, chiseled her face with shadow and light.

"Get thee down, child," she mouthed, and the maiden called Yukijirou obeyed. Into the hole she slipped, with no regard to what lay within, and the proprietress followed, closing the portal after her.

It was a dug-out chamber of stamped-down earth. Soil may be packed to form four sides of the wall, but nature could alter that as it pleased her. Rain would oooze away the secret den and the enraged shaking of the earth could easily loosen the walls into submission.

It was a tomb.

But the man on the pallet was no dead man. His breathing, nonetheless, reminded her of one close to his grave—indeed he could very well be in his. Blood coated his wiry body. Even his face barely betrayed his identity. The one called Yukijirou knew him still.

"Himeki-san," she said.

The mama-san nodded. "Your master would have you serve him. The terms of the agreement stands unaltered. Commence in fulfilling your duty, daughter."

As before, the maiden voiced no question. She gave no comment on the cloaked, hooded figure ministering on the wounded man. The mysterious person gestured towards the wash cloth and basin of warm water, and she proceeded to wash of the caked blood, first from the unconscious warrior's face and downward from there.

Meanwhile, the figure was busy with his own preparation. "Hold him down," he ordered tersely to both mama-san and the maiden. The two came promptly to the supine man's side and held his limbs down. Morbid curiosity prompted the young woman to stare at the grisly operation that followed. With nimble, precise movements, the cloaked man cleaned the ugly gash at the warrior's side and sewed up the gaping wound.

"Smother his mouth with cloth," came the next command, and they did as they were told. With a fiery apparatus, he sealed the wound, and with the swift motion came a muffled scream from the afflicted. Some somnolent drug speedily drew back the patient into the depths of unconsciousness, however. Blankets were silently drawn upon the warrior, then the cloaked man rose to his feet.

"I came here to see to your indisposition." His words came without warning, without warning that it was meant for the young woman. "I shall be leaving you now."

"You have not made your examination, doctor," answered the girl neutrally. "And I feel no ailment that could possibly require your scrutiny."

"It will be as he says!" snapped the mama-san automatically.

"So it shall be then." The maiden bowed her submission.

The man spoke again. "Your sojourn here is not without peril. Vigilance shall be your comrade. Death hunts not only through that young man's body, but also from without. For your country's sake... fail not, child."

The child merely gazed on that hidden face. "I shall care for this man. I shall keep silent."

Then the mama-san and the masked surgeon departed. And there was only silence in that inescapable prison of impervious dirt.

To be continued...

Notes: Watermelon, thanks for reminding me. I was so bent on finishing of my Naruto fics that I've forgotten about this one. This chapter has actually been sitting in my computer for almost a year now. But I'm starting to write again for this, so rest assured. ) So thanks again for not giving up hope. Same goes to you, Blackheart Syaoran.

AN: Oo I found it. It's been years, but if there are still those who are interested. . . kowtows


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